


Bonds to Endure

by Amebb42



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ancient magic, Blaise Zabini is a Good Friend, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Fast Beginning/Slow Build, Forced Bonding, Forced Marriage, House Elves, Lucid Dreaming, M/M, Many POV, Memory Charm | Obliviate (Harry Potter), Miscarriage, Multi, New Magic, Pregnancy, Rape/Non-con Elements, Severus Snape Lives, Sexual Slavery, Smut, Strategist Ron Weasley, Torture, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:27:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 29
Words: 103,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26304868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amebb42/pseuds/Amebb42
Summary: The Battle of Hogwarts goes awry for both sides. The Death Eaters take prisoners, including Hermione Granger. As punishment for Narcissa's betrayal and Draco's failures, Voldemort forces Draco to marry Potter's mudblood, ruining the Malfoy's pureblood line.There are sides to choose, escapes to be made, old and new relationships to work through, ancient magic to rebirth, new magic to create, and a war to win.
Relationships: Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Charlie Weasley, Charlie Weasley/Blaise Zabini, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 419
Kudos: 318





	1. The Battle

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters or canon world-building associated with the books JK Rowling wrote. Sad but true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first fan-fiction, and my first time writing at all in many years. As I begin posting, I'm over 60k words/20 chapters in and there's a long way to go. I hope some will enjoy this enough to come along for the journey. It may be a wild ride. 
> 
> It will be a few chapters before warnings are necessary and I will always give them in notes first in case you want the story but to skip some of the more upsetting parts. There will be canon-similar torture, but I don't foresee it becoming more graphic than the Bellatrix/Hermione scene in Deathly Hallows.
> 
> There will be a happy ending eventually.

Saturday, May 2, 1998

Draco’s heart sunk into his stomach as he watched the line of Death Eaters approaching and listened to the booming voice of his Dark Lord announcing their doom. No. He wasn’t supposed to think of this as doom. Harry Potter’s death would be cause for celebration, right? I’m one of them, Draco told himself, and tried to feel happy about it. Tried to feel happy about his dead classmate. Tried to feel happy that the last chance to escape the Dark Lord’s terrifying regime was gone.

He could barely hear his master’s speech over the rushing in his ears, so overwhelmed by exhaustion and emotion, Draco wasn’t sure he could continue to stand. It had been such a long battle. Then Lucius stepped forward just a bit from the Death Eaters’ front line, beckoning him over. His mother made it clear it was time for him to come back to their side. He could barely remember how he came to be standing on the side of good in the first place. Now that he was here, however....

He felt his feet start to shuffle. His survival instincts were kicking in, even while his heart was debating the move. His gaze was focused on his mother, but to the side, he could see that the Dark Lord was looking displeased, his wand starting to move upward. Draco knew he needed to move faster. He was too exhausted to withstand a crucio right now with any kind of dignity. And he was in enough trouble already if it was discovered what had happened. Suddenly, Lord Voldemort was screaming, then laughing maniacally as an angry hissing sound filled the courtyard.

Draco turned to see where the sound was coming from. Granger. The bushy-haired mudblood freak was standing above something billowing nasty black smoke from the ground, a fang of some sort held triumphantly over her head. He tried not to think it, but she looked like an avenging angel. The oily looking smoke came out as a hissing snake then formed into a terrifying version of the Dark Lord, hovering over them all and reaching out to murder oily little figures that flashed up as one soldier of good after another. Granger wasn’t cowering, but tears streamed down her face as the phantom Dark Lord told her she was the only one left, that they were all dead or had abandoned the cause. 

But there was her disgusting ginger sidekick right beside her. Ron Weasley took her hand and started shouting. “She’ll never be alone! Harry may be gone, but he left us to finish the job. Dumbledore told us what to do and we’re going to get it done!”

A cheer went up. Many voices cried out. “She has us!” “You can’t take us down!” “Dumbledore’s Army!”

Draco sneered as he recognized the call for that little Order kids’ club from back in fifth year. He might not know what to think about his Dark Lord, but he certainly still knew how he felt about all of them. And especially that idiot Weasley, who stooped to pick up the smoking object. The smoke was starting to drain away. Laughing, the ginger threw it out into the courtyard between the two groups. 

“There’s your tiara, Snakeface. Sorry it’s looking a little dark and twisted now.”'

The Dark Lord was clearly livid. And Draco was suddenly terrified as he realized what that “tiara” really was - Ravenclaw’s Diadem. The Diadem he had been tasked with protecting at all costs. He was a dead man. All the near misses so far tonight were just going to mean a longer, more painful death. Probably for his family as well. It didn’t matter that Lord Voldemort had given incredibly vague instructions. It didn’t matter that Draco didn’t know what the thing he was guarding looked like or where it was within the room. All that would matter is that he had failed again. The mark tethered him to the Dark Lord, but perhaps he could help his mother escape before…..he couldn’t stand to think about what would come. There was no escape for him now.

“BLIMEY!” the half-giant carrying Harry’s body suddenly bellowed. Draco had always despised that creature they had been forced to endure as a teacher. Hagrid was crying, apparently with joy, as he yelled, “E’s breathin!” At that announcement, Harry Potter rolled out of Hagrid’s arms just as the dazzling green light of the Dark Lord’s avada would have hit him, taking down the half-giant instead. Potter gaped, pausing too long to stare before turning to run. A slicing curse from somewhere in the Death Eater crowd hit his leg, bringing him crashing to the ground. Suddenly, the battle erupted everywhere around them.

**************************************

Just one more Horcrux left. And Harry was alive! Finishing off the Diadem meant they only had the snake to kill. Hermione held tight to Ron’s hand as they pushed through the chaos around them. They had to get to Harry!

They were so focused, Ron didn’t realize he had been hit until he fell over, completely paralyzed from the body-bind. Hermione dodged the one aimed at her. Yaxley was after them, she thought. Whispering a quick counter-curse, she was able to free Ron. She turned quickly, screaming, “Protego!” just in time to deflect a Sectumsempra from nearby. Glancing to the side when she heard Ron grunt, she saw that he was now dueling Yaxley. Beyond him, Professor Flitwick and Lupin were taking on Dolohov. To the side, she saw Justin Fitch-Fletchley, Seamus, and Susan Bones facing off against several masked Death Eaters. Molly Weasley had just finished taking one down across the room. A white-blond head dodged in and out behind a tapestry, throwing curses at Death Eaters. Hermione was certain she was seeing things because the only person with hair like that was Draco Malfoy.

Her momentary distraction allowed a stinging hex to hit her arm. It wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle, but got her attention. She shot a stunner at MacNair, who apparently had been aiming for Luna. She turned to head for Harry again, when, to her right, she heard the shrill laughter of a woman she had hoped to never face again.

*************************************

Neville gasped when Harry went to his knees right in front of him. He knew, as the member of Dumbledore’s Army closest, it was his duty to back up Harry, get him on his feet and fighting. Or, as Harry tried to stand and failed, do the fighting for him. Neville began shooting curses toward Voldemort, who was advancing menacingly toward Harry. It was odd that he hadn’t sent an avada at his friend again, but Neville was happy to draw the crazed wizard’s attention away before he tried.

Harry gave up trying to stand as he watched Voldemort face off with the boy everyone had once considered hopeless at magic. Neville might not have a lot of finesse, but somewhere along the line, he had certainly found his power. He was holding his own. It wouldn’t be enough to defeat him, but it was enough for the moment. Harry had to get his own spell in at a time when it wouldn’t hit Neville, but was sure to take Voldemort down. Finally, he saw his opening.

“Expelliarmus!”

Neville’s wand blasted over to Harry. Voldemort began to laugh, and then to advance toward Harry. For Harry, the sounds of battle receded so that it was just he and Voldemort. He knew, distantly, that someone was calling his name, but it was muted. In the eerie silence, Harry could suddenly hear a soft song, one he recognized instantly. 

Fawkes! The beautiful phoenix swooped by, dropping the sorting hat at Neville’s feet and flying straight at Voldemort’s eyes. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Neville reaching into the hat and pulling forth the sword of Gryffindor. Maybe the snake is nearby, Harry thought, hoping that Neville or someone might take it out before he and Voldemort finished their business. Harry struggled up from the ground despite the pain in his leg.

“Just you and me, Riddle. We were always meant to fight this final battle, you and I.”

Voldemort laughed maniacally and responded with “Avada Kedavra!” 

Harry barely threw up a shield, and not a very good one at that. He had expected more talking first. The shield almost held. It gave him time to dodge. When the spell broke through, the light was a pale yellow-green and just barely hit his left arm. The piercing laughter was all he heard for a moment. Then a surprised grunt just as things went black.

Neville had been bewildered when he pulled the sword out of the hat. As Harry crumpled to the ground, he knew exactly what to do with it. Silently, so as to give no warning above Voldemort’s disturbing laughter, Neville charged straight at him, sword held like a lance with both hands. He plunged it straight through his goal, but not high enough. Neville rammed himself up against Voldemort and started trying to pull the sword out, planning for the heart next. A physical attack had not been expected and Voldemort was falling to the ground from his wound. It wasn’t immediately fatal enough for Neville, but it was certainly enough to take the monster to the ground.

************************************

Lucius Malfoy raced to his master’s side, blowing the boy away from him with a well-aimed confrigo as he neared. Voldemort was barely conscious from the pain and the blood he was quickly losing. 

“Cissy! Come attend our Lord.” His wife knelt beside him. “Get him back to the Manor and healed. I’ll join you soon enough.”

“Lucius, I can’t!”

“It wasn’t a question.”

“Draco! Lucious, if I must go, you have to swear to me you’ll find him.”

“Of course I won’t leave the boy here. Now go!”

With his beloved wife and the Dark Lord gone, Lucius breathed a sigh of relief. He stood, shot red sparks into the air and cast so that his voice would be heard in the ear of every Death Eater. “The Dark Lord wants prisoners as we return. Leave this place.” Looking around, he saw only Neville Longbottom where there should have been Harry Potter as well. He grabbed the limp body in one hand, the discarded sword in the other, and disapparated home just long enough to drop the incarceroused boy in a heap by the sitting room door. Then he was back and searching.

He knew from that moment at the beginning, the moment he wouldn’t come to them, that the worthless brat wasn’t wearing his robes and mask like he should be. Was there nothing the child wouldn’t fail at? At least that was a help now. The boy’s hair wasn’t long and flowing like his own, but how hard could it be to find someone with a glowing white-gold mop on their head? Harder, it seemed, than he had hoped. 

Looking around, he saw his brother-in-law Rodolphus apparate away with a girl he didn’t know. McGonagall was backed into a corner by Dolohov. Rowle was fighting down one of the Weasley boys, an older one Lucius thought. Fenrir scooped up an armload of little children - what they were even doing in the midst of a battle, he couldn’t imagine. A girl he recognized as Pansy Parkinson grabbed on as Greyback disapparated back to the manor. Bellatrix was still battling. As he watched, Molly Weasley fell to the ground, the three girls she had been protecting crestfallen and terrified behind her. That was the moment he finally found what he was looking for. 

Draco darted forward, out of his hiding place and headed toward the battle with his Aunt Bella. He didn’t even notice his father standing to the side until Lucius grabbed him by the collar and spun them both around in apparition. They landed hard in the sitting room, surrounded by the chaos of the angry and the wounded.


	2. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters or canon world-building associated with the books JK Rowling wrote. Sad but true.

Sunday, May 3, 1998; late morning

Six red heads bowed together, arms around one another, most sobbing with all they had. They were losing too much. Mum was in the Hospital Wing under Madam Pomfrey’s care, Charlie and Fleur were missing, and Fred…….Fred was gone forever. To make matters worse, especially for the youngest two, Harry Potter was unconscious as well. And Hermione was gone, taken by Bellatrix LeStrange and undoubtedly a captive of the Death Eaters now.

None of them had slept much throughout the long, sad night. When anyone would drift off for a moment, they were inevitably brought awake by their nightmares or the broken sobs of the others.

Ron pulled away from the heartbroken group. “I have to do something. I need to get to Hermione. Find Charlie. I don’t hope he got caught, but I hope Hermione isn’t there alone. Fleur either, I guess.”

“No chance of that,” the familiar voice of his once-professor spoke. Remus Lupin put his hand on Ron’s shoulder, perhaps for comfort, perhaps to hold him in place, “I don’t know if Charlie was captured, but there were others who were seen being taken. Hermione isn’t alone.”

Ron felt himself go even paler, and then red with fury. “Who else?” he growled, “Who else did they get tonight!?”

His father stepped up, “Ron. We don’t know yet. There are quite a few people missing, son.” Ron rounded on his father and fought the urge to shout or take a swing.

Lupin interjected, “McGonagall. Seamus saw Dolohov capture and take her. Greyback took someone.”

Ron couldn’t believe McGonagall had been captured. He felt like his whole world was reeling. How could he be the one of his friends left standing? What if it came down to him now? There was a brief vision of the glory he wouldn’t have to share after killing Voldemort, but….could he even do anything without Harry and Hermione? They had always been the important ones - the “Chosen One,” destined to defeat Voldemort, and everyone knew that Hermione was the brains behind their trio. How could he hope to save the world they knew on his own? Ron steeled himself. He might just have to be that savior, no matter what. He was the last horcrux hunter. The snake still lived, plus He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named as far as he knew. When he grabbed Harry and got him away, Ron knew the darkest wizard had seen him, looked directly at him. He might be injured, but he wasn’t dead then and it was too much to hope that the Death Eaters would have let him die. No, it was certain he, Ron, had work to do.

Ron turned on his heel, ready to charge off. Lupin and Arthur appeared on each of his sides, “No.”

“Get out of my way!”

“No, son. We can’t let you go marching off by yourself with no plans and no supplies.”

“When was the last time you ate?” 

Ron’s traitorous stomach growled. His head and body ached from exhaustion and the minor wounds he had taken throughout the long day. In truth, he had no idea where to start, just the frantic need to do something. Whatever that something might be, it would have to wait a little while.

********************************

Hermione felt like her head would split open. It took her a moment to come up with any memory of what might have happened. She jolted suddenly awake as she realized who had her and where she might have been taken. To her relief, Hermione found herself in a dungeon rather than with Bellatrix LeStrange. 

“Miss Granger!” cried her beloved headmistress, a voice that brought Hermione great comfort and, in this situation, distress. She looked up into Headmistress McGonagall’s worried face and realized there were others leaning in around them. The light was a dim grey from a window high above, but it was enough to make out faces near her. Ron’s brother Charlie was there, Professor Flitwick, Neville, one of the Patil twins, and Hannah Abbott all staring at her. Beyond them, she saw some young ones, probably just first years, clinging to none other than Pansy Parkinson. Fleur was with them as well, trying to calm the children. Beside her were a couple of young muggleborns, probably fifth or sixth years, whose names Hermiione didn’t know though she thought one of them might be Justin Finch-Fletchley’s brother. They were talking quietly with Terry Boot.

Sitting up made her head spin and stomach lurch, but Hermione moved anyway, “Wh-what happened? Where are we?”

“Dungeons of Malfoy Manor, love,” said Charlie, “Not surprised Death Eater headquarters would be here, eh?”

“No. Not a surprise,” she shuddered with the memory of the last time she had been in this Manor. It had been a miracle to escape it once. She was sure this time she would die here. 

“How do you feel, Miss Granger? What do you remember?” This from Professor Flitwick.

“I...Molly was fighting Bellatrix. Luna, Ginny, and I were there and had tried. Molly fell - is she ok?” There were worried looks around her. Poor Charlie had paled. Clearly no one knew. “Bellatrix was going for Ginny next. So I...I pushed her out of the way and tried to take her on myself. I think I shot her with a slicing hex, but I can’t remember anything after that. Did Ginny escape?” Again, there were no answers. Hermione sighed and pushed forward, “She’s not here at least. Hopefully that means the best. What do each of you remember?”

Everyone reported what they had seen or heard before they were taken. The worst information came from Neville. Oh, Harry.

Hermione was so distracted worrying about what might be going on outside their world, that she barely noticed how dark it was getting. She didn’t even register at first that someone was approaching. In the light of a glowing wand tip, silvery blond hair glowed.

“Malfoy,” Neville snarled, “I can’t believe you’ll show your face…”

“Shut up,” Draco hissed, “I’ve brought food you’re not allowed to have.” He began passing bread and cheese through the door. “Eat quick. There’s to be a Revel tonight, now that the Dark Lord is recovered. You’ll need strength.”

“Thank you, Mister Malfoy,” Headmistress McGonagall said, “Can we assume they will be retrieving some of us for this...Revel?”

“All of you. Has everyone...come back yet?”

“All awake and as good as can be expected,” Professor Flitwick reported.

Hermione was confused. Malfoy looked terrified, constantly checking over his shoulder and nervously swaying on his feet. “Malfoy. Why are you risking yourself to bring us food?” She couldn’t stop herself from asking.

He growled back at her, then quickly spun and disappeared up a staircase somewhere to the left of their cell. 

Hermione soon found herself marching up that same staircase, bound magically at the wrists, along with all the other prisoners. They were drug single file into what could only be a ballroom. The opulence was overwhelming after nothing but darkness and the rough stone walls of the cell below. Here there was gold and marble everywhere, with multiple chandeliers even larger than the one Hermione had nearly been crushed by previously. At one end, there was a large dais. To one side, there was a grand piano and several other seats for musicians. In the center, clearly not an original part of the decor, there was what could only be called a throne. A series of chairs were placed on each side of his throne, but they were empty tonight. His throne was not.

The prisoners were shoved to the ground directly in front of the dais.

“Ah,” the satisfied sound slithered from Voldemort’s lips, “So nice of you to join us. So many of you that I especially wanted to see.”

No one made a sound. He hissed. “You say ‘thank you, my lord’ or you face the consequences.”

“Never,” Neville challenged, “I will never call you that. Can’t imagine a situation where I’d thank you either.”

“Crucio! As if I need another reason to offer you my special attention, foolish child.” Neville screamed as Lord Voldemort stood and looked out over the crowd of laughing Death Eaters. He did not let up his curse as he monologued Neville’s part in the battle, “My friends, do you know what this pathetic child did? He used a sword to try and kill me. As you all know, I can not be killed, can NOT die. But even if I could, he was too stupid to do it right. Aren’t you?” He turned back to Neville as he let up on the spell. “What’s your name, boy?”

“Neville.” He struggled into a standing position, “Longbottom.”

He clearly intended to say more, likely something worse, when Minerva McGonagall surged up like a Mama Bear. “That is quite enough said, Mr. Longbottom. Lord Voldemort, if you must torture, let it be me...” 

“Or me,” Professor Flitwick cut in.

“...rather than the children. They were only following orders.”

Voldemort’s shrill laughter filled the hall, quickly followed by the laughter of his minions. He sat down as he said, “You expect me to believe they were just following orders? Some of them, perhaps. But dear Headmistress, you have Harry Potter’s pet Mudblood. You have my would-be murderer here. They are taking orders from the wrong people to be forgiven now.”

“Be that as it may…”

McGonagall was interrupted by clicking boot heels. Bellatrix LeStrange was dressed for a fun night. Her entire outfit was leather and lace, barely there, with heels 5 inches high. It was clear what she expected to be doing at this Revel. Her hair was just as wild as always, her eyes a bit more deranged than usual. She looked over the prisoners with hunger and insanity. “Did I hear that boy is Neville Longbottom?”

“Oh yes, my dear,” Voldemort replied. “I thought you might enjoy playing with him when I am done.”

“I would be delighted, my Lord! I’ve always wondered if he would like to join Mummy and Daddy.”

Neville launched himself from the floor straight at her. He would have tackled her, but the Dark Lord made a swatting motion as though going after a fly and Neville hit the floor hard enough to knock him out again. 

Bellatrix stamped her foot. “You weren’t supposed to ruin the fun of him so soon!” she whined.

“We can ennervate him when we’re ready. I have other important matters to attend to first.”

“Oh I hope it’s something fun! I could always amuse myself with another of them - I have some unfinished business with the Mudblood and isn’t that redhead just delicious looking? - but I do enjoy watching you work, my Lord.” She looked like a little girl, excited over too many playthings to choose.

“Some of us will be having fun. Some within this hall, however, are traitors and will be having a less enjoyable - but very entertaining - time.” He called out, “Lucius. Narcissa.” The two scurried to place themselves in front of their master as someone, Yaxley, Hermione thought, yanked the prisoners back by their invisible ropes.

“You lied to me, Narcissa. I am lucky to be sitting here right now because you lied that the Potter boy was dead.”

“No! No, my Lord! I would never lie to you! I couldn’t. There was no breath, no heartbeat when I…”

“ENOUGH!” the Dark Lord roared. “I know what you did and didn’t do. I know now that you wish me dead. I know and I won’t forget. Neither, my dear, will you be able to forget that I know. Lucius, as you could not control your wife to love me as she should, as you couldn’t keep her from trying to undermine my very life, you will need to prove to me that you can control her. You will punish her.”

“Yes, my Lord, of course,” Lucius looked relieved, “I will make sure she pays for this and will never do such a thing again.”

“You will do it here. Right now. It will begin with Crucio. 5 straight minutes should be a good start.”

“But, my Lord, she can’t…” he didn’t look relieved any longer.

“Do you question me?” Voldemort hissed. Narcissa’s screams filled the hall. They never ended and it felt like glass inside Hermione’s ears. Looking around, she saw Malfoy - Draco - watching from the side, about 3 shades paler than usual. He was trying to mask the horror he felt, but failing miserably. Finally, finally, the time was up and Narcissa lay crumpled in a gasping heap. Lucius started to run to her, but his Lord shook his head no. 

“What do you think next? The same again, or is it time to start the physical beating?” Lucius looked like he might be ill at any moment. “My Lord, please. She is fragile already, has been ever since Draco was born.”

“Ah...Yes. Draco can take her place then. Only, he has his own transgressions to atone for as well. Dolohov, you were there when I was assigning posts. Who was tasked with protecting the Diadem of Ravenclaw?”

Dolohov chuckled darkly, “Draco Malfoy, my Lord.”

Hermione could hear shuffling amongst the Death Eaters, and the boy who had bullied and tormented her since the first day she entered the wizarding world was shoved from the crowd out in front of the dais hard enough to land him face first on the floor. He immediately scrambled onto his knees and groveled. “Please, my Lord. I tried to keep it away from them. I tried…” Then he was screaming as his body arched and convulsed. Voldemort was clearly working the spell far more intensely than Lucius had been aiming it at his wife. When he released it, minutes later, Draco was coughing up blood and his body was still convulsing. 

“You were saying, dear boy?” the Dark Lord tittered. Draco didn’t seem able to reply. Voldemort stood and descended the dais to walk around his prone body. “No matter. Your word is clearly as worthless as you anyway. The youngest Death Eater. The little prodigy, you were supposed to be. Instead you’re even more of a failure than your parents. And they have generously agreed for you to pay the price for them as well as yourself. Your life is over, but don’t worry, the pain won’t end until the Revel is over.” He raised his voice, “That’s a command. He’s only to be tortured until the end of the night. I will kill him personally.”

Hermione heard Draco whimpering. He had always been her enemy, but her stomach turned imagining what he was about to endure. She knew from seeing him here and there throughout the battle that his treachery against Lord Voldemort was considerably greater. He had finally let himself be a little selfless and brave and he was going to die for it. But then his father finally stepped forward.

“My Lord,” he said, dropping to his knees, “Please, I have no other heir.” Hermione barely stifled a gasp that this was all the man had to say with his son laying there.

Voldemort calmly said, “You are so amusing, Lucius. Dead men don’t need heirs.” At the look on his follower’s face, Voldemort began laughing, as he cast a relentless crucio at the man. When it seemed Lucius was incapable of screaming further, the Dark Lord abruptly stopped. “I don’t plan to kill you. Today. You’re still useful to me for the moment. You say you need the boy to get a new heir?” He kicked Draco, who fearfully hadn’t moved a muscle during his father’s torture, as he mentioned him.

“Yes, my Lord.” Lucius didn’t even glance in his son’s direction.

“Is there a wife he’s been hiding?”

“No, my lord.”

“Hmmm. Then it sounds like he is in need of a wife to be useful for something. My good people,” Voldemort stepped back onto the dais, “Does anyone have a daughter they would like to sully with the Malfoy name?”

No one spoke. There was some light laughter. But suddenly Hermione heard a sound behind her. Pansy Parkinson shakily stood, “I’ll marry him.” Draco managed to pull his head up from the floor to stare at her. Hermione couldn’t tell what the look in his eyes meant beyond relief that someone was willing. Of course he and Pansy had dated for years, but they had a clear falling out sometime during sixth year. Perhaps that had changed again this past year? 

Lord Voldemort tilted his head. “A Pureblood princess - one of our own - amongst the prisoners? What travesty is this?”

“There were little kids that nasty werewolf took. From our own House Slytherin. I couldn’t just leave them to him.” Pansy gestured behind her to 3 first years and a 2nd year in a trembling cluster behind her. She hastily added, “my Lord.”

“Are they of noble birth as well?”

“Two are purebloods, the other two,” her voice shook, “half. Their families are...not here tonight.”

“What a pity,” Voldemort said in a bored tone, “Goyle! Take the two little purebloods to the special guest rooms. Don’t forget to obliviate them - they are to know nothing that has happened since the battle.” He didn’t even glance at the other two tiny children before turning his attention back to Pansy, “Now, my dear, back to your potential wedding...Reginald Parkinson!” he called. A portly man with thick glasses moved up from the back of the room. “Is this one of your daughters, Parkinson?” The man glared at her and affirmed that she was. “Will you give her hand to young Malfoy here? To save him from a terrible fate?”

The man looked irate. “Of course not! We’re purebloods, in good standing. I’ll marry her off the first moment I can after this little charade, but she won’t be marrying that pitiful chump.”

“Get her out of my sight, then, before she joins him as the entertainment for tonight,” Voldemort stormed, “Now. No pureblood woman will have him. However will you get your heir, Lucius?” He was clearly enjoying this, pacing around the stage as though he were thinking hard about it. But then he paused, turned, and stared straight at the prisoners, straight at HER.

“I know what we’ll do. Time for a celebration, my people. Draco Malfoy will be marrying Potter’s Mudblood tonight!”


	3. Vita et Virtus Obligandi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains non-con. In this story, forced marriage = forced consummation. The act itself isn't described in detail, but there are plenty of disturbing bits leading up to it. There is a clear warning before we get to that point. All major plot points happen before that as well.

Sunday May 3, 1998; afternoon

Ginny needed to be busy. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do, but she had to do something. Dad hadn’t left her Mum’s bedside since the battle ended. Bill was helping scour the castle and surrounding grounds for the missing, no doubt hoping to find Fleur somewhere - miraculously alive and well. George had locked himself in the dorm room he had once shared with Fred and Lee Jordan and wasn’t speaking. Percy was spending all of his time trying to distract Ron. Somehow her family hadn’t realized that she was going nearly as crazy as Ron.

She presented herself to Remus, who had grudgingly accepted his role as coordinator for the Order and all who fought on the side of good. The others called him their leader, but Remus certainly didn’t see himself that way. Still. He was the one Ginny went to for some sort of assignment. At first, he put her off. Help tend your mother, he said. Then a suggestion to work on keeping Ron distracted. Finally, he told her she could help with the rebuilding efforts, and sent her off to join a team who had begun work on the most damaged part of the castle.

She was shocked when it turned out that this team was led by Seamus Finnegan. She liked him well enough, of course, but he was well known for blowing up everything he touched. It seemed that he was well prepared for her incredulous look. With a sigh, he said, “Blow things up enough, you finally get good at putting them back together, yeah?”

She began laughing. And then began following his orders. 

They had been working for a couple of hours when they suddenly heard an odd gurgling cough sound. Ginny looked away from the bricks she was levitating back into place while Cho Chang magically mortared them. She gasped. There was a black-cloaked figure coming toward them. Ginny wasn’t frightened at the sight of a Death Eater, though. He was barely upright, half dragging himself along. He was deathly pale and covered in blood. It was even matted into his dark, greasy hair. No, Ginny was shocked by the presence of a dead man - Severus Snape.

****************************

Remus was not going to be the head of the Order. That kind of job was for Kingsley, or Minerva if they could find her. He was outraged that she was missing at all. Had they no decency? Of course he already knew the answer to that - had known it for more years than he cared to think about. Losing Professor McGonagall, especially with Dumbledore gone, too, was a terrible blow to everyone’s sense of safety. 

Losing two-thirds of their Golden Trio was another terrifying prospect. Madam Pomfrey couldn’t figure out quite what was wrong with Harry, but she was hopeful that he would come out of his magical coma at any moment. Remus just feared her “hope” was the same desperation the rest of them felt. Harry was the MOST important player in saving the world as they knew it. He had to make it out of this. Remus felt a pang of remorse that his first thought was for Harry’s usefulness and not that he needed James’ son to be okay. But such was life in the Order. There were too many details to sort - and too much resting on such a tiny contingent of mostly teenagers.

Hermione being among the missing was problematic in a different way. Yes, people were upset. Ron was beside himself. But most importantly, they needed her brilliance. It was not an exaggeration to say that the boys would be long dead without her guiding hand. Even when the three of them had disappeared for months and terrified the elder members of the Order, there had been a certain confidence that Hermione would see them all safe against the odds. But now. She was undoubtedly at Malfoy Manor. There were other dungeons among the Death Eaters, but Remus was confident that she would be in the most secure location. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was staying there, if their last scraps of intelligence were to be believed. And this, at least, he was inclined to believe. Other things….coming from Snivellus? He wasn’t so sure he trusted them. And most would be irrelevant now anyway.

Remus sighed as he stared at the stacks of papers before him. There were lists of the dead, lists of the injured, a terribly small list of able bodies and their current assignments, which parts of the castle needed mending, a list of things that needed to be done as soon as they had the manpower. It was never ending. And all Remus really wanted was to take his wife and go home to the baby. He wanted them to curl up together and rest. Instead, he needed to find a way to make the small list of people big enough to cover the huge list of things that must get done. Hogwarts was a fortress, but a very vulnerable one at the moment.

A sound began to make its way to him, even up here in the headmaster’s office. Something must be wrong. He wanted to make whoever it was come all the way to him, letting his exhausted mind and body rest just that tiny bit longer, but it could be anything, and it could require his immediate help. Remus sighed and headed out.

*************************************

Saturday, May 3, 1998; late evening

Draco was frozen. This couldn’t be happening. In the background, he could hear his father perfecting the art of arguing while groveling. “...so generous, my Lord Master….but generations of the purest blood….your mercy is boundless, my Lord….her blood is muddy….thank you for this opportunity, my Lord….she stole her magic.” That last bit made Draco want to laugh. He hated everything about Granger, but he knew perfectly well she hadn’t stolen her magic. That was a bunch of rubbish for all the mudbloods. But Granger - she hadn’t even stolen her place at the top of the class. She was brilliant. It was enraging, but true. 

His mind was wandering. He was still in so much pain that he couldn’t focus. He couldn’t imagine ever touching any mudblood, especially that one, but given his choices, accepting this marriage was all he could do. Would she accept so easily? She was so bloody stubborn. Not that she had a choice unless he refused. Or his bloody father refused for him. It wouldn’t surprise Draco at all to find that his father would rather him dead than producing an heir with less than pure blood, no matter how likely intelligent and powerful that heir might be. Draco blinked. He hadn’t meant to think that, but he was smart enough to realize it was true.

“ENOUGH of your drivel, Lucius,” the Dark Lord finally bellowed. “Unless you prefer him dead tonight, your pitiful excuse for a son will marry the mudblood now. I like the idea of having her well tied to one of my Death Eaters. We’ll need a very special ceremony.”

Bellatrix jumped up next to him, “My lord, goblin blood rites bind the two together in ways they can’t ever get out of!”

“If only I had a goblin handy.” Voldemort sounded irritated with her.

“You do!” she giggled, “dear Professor Flitwick is a half-goblin. He used to brag all the time about how extensively he had studied the magic of his heritage. I remember him mentioning how nasty the blood rites are. I think these two deserve nasty.”

“Bring him,” Voldemort commanded, “And the mudblood.”

From behind, Draco heard his tiny professor protesting that he would not. He was surprised that he did not hear a word from Granger. He knew they were grabbing and dragging her. He had heard a squeak of indignation, and whoever was getting her grumbling that she wouldn’t just stand up and walk. Draco didn’t dare look. He knew he was a coward, but he couldn’t stand to see what she was thinking on her face when she looked at him. He would be forced to face it soon, but he certainly wasn’t going to a moment before it was necessary. 

He suddenly was hit by a body being roughly shoved at him. He was too surprised to reach out to steady her even if he had determined he wanted to, so Hermione fell gracelessly to the ground next to him. The small sound she made as she hit made him wince. He felt an urge to help her up, but this wasn’t the time to let such impulses loose. He drew himself up as tall as he could and put on an expression like something foul smelling was nearby, determined not to acknowledge her any other way.

“I won’t bind children together with that horrible ritual! And certainly not when one will harm the other. Hermione never needs to blacken her soul with such a disastrous…” Flitwick was cut off by Granger’s voice, softer than Draco had ever heard it, but somehow more powerful as well.

“It’s okay, Professor. I’ll do it.”

The whole room became silent. Draco’s breath caught and he couldn’t seem to restart it. What did she just say? WHY would she agree to this? 

Lord Voldemort began to laugh. “Of course you will, Mudblood. You have no choice in the matter. I am curious, however, why you would agree so easily.”

Her hands were tied in such a way that she couldn’t stand alone, but she pulled her body up as much as she could and held her chin high. “I hate Draco Malfoy with every fiber of my being, but no one deserves to die that way. It’s the right thing to do.”

Oh Merlin. Draco’s stomach dropped realizing he had become one of Granger’s pity projects. His Dark Lord was laughing again.

It took very little time for a farce of wedding fanfare to magically transform the room. There were white decorations everywhere with blood red roses as accent pieces here and there. Chairs had been set out in rows, with a pathway down the middle as you would have in any wedding. Lord Voldemort’s many followers, those not important enough to be on the chairs of the dais, were happily taking seats out front where they would have a good view of the open space in front of the dais. They would be able to view both the bride and groom AND the horror of the rest of the prisoners trapped off to the side. The followers were chittering, gossiping away, laughter ringing out as they all enjoyed the Malfoys’ fall from grace and pretended to be scandalized that he would stoop so low as to marry a mudblood for any reason. 

The dirty, half shredded Muggle clothes Granger had been wearing were replaced with a white wedding dress that hugged her curves at the top then bloomed into a giant princess-type ballgown - beautiful, but Draco knew instinctively that it wasn’t her style. It was a stark contrast to her bushy, unbrushed mane and her still-bruised and dirty skin. There were blood red roses in her hair, and weaving themselves downward until a vine wrapped all the way down her left arm. There were thorns along the vine, little rivulets of blood running down where they were digging in and scratching her skin open as she moved. The grimace on her face told Draco that she was in pain but still unwilling to give anyone the satisfaction of making a sound. The thorns undoubtedly did hurt, but of course that was their point. It was all designed to hurt in some way. 

Watching from his spot next to Flitwick, both of them being held in place by someone’s magic, Draco felt like crying himself when he looked around at the signs of a supposed celebration and thought about what this really meant for him. How could the purity-loving Dark Lord actually insist that he marry a mudblood?

Up on the dais, Lord Voldemort sat on his throne. The chairs around him were filled. Lucius and Narcissa were given front row seating, as well as Bellatrix and the Lestrange brothers, Yaxley, Dolohov, Nott, and MacNair. The night’s privileged and imprisoned have both been chosen for the evening, Draco thought mockingly. They hadn’t bothered to change his clothes. Everything he owned was black, expensive, well-tailored. He looked like he was attending his own funeral, which might as well be true.

In further mockery of the whole thing, Flitwick was still in his professor’s clothes, torn and dirtied from the battle. He had a table to his right with a blade Draco knew was cursed laying on it. Whatever was done with it would scar forever. He saw that Granger was eyeing it warily. He shuddered at the thought of the scars he knew were on her forearm from its twin. Aunt Bella had been very angry to lose one of the pair. Draco couldn’t help but wish they had both gone.

“I think we’re all ready, yes?” Lord Voldemort paused to hear his followers laugh and cheer, “Goblin, we want a full ceremony. No shirking the vows or full rites. I know precisely what these rituals are meant to do and I want her fully bound to him.”

“Our rituals, brutal though they are, are also quick and to the point. Vows aren’t usually bothered with since consent isn’t required,” Professor Flitwick quaked angrily.

“Begin with them anyway. Entertain us.” Everyone laughed again. Everyone except the three Malfoys, the silenced prisoners, and Granger. Draco realized that his parents were still in mortified shock.

Flitwick cleared his throat and began to speak solemnly, a tear rolling down one cheek as he reluctantly spoke, “Draco Lucius Malfoy and Hermione Jean Granger, do you each take the other to be your wedded partner, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to care for and protect, with magic and without?”

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but the Dark Lord cut her off. “What is this goblin? No mention of love? Of forever? We want to be sure these two sweet children make the vows they deserve.” His followers were laughing hysterically. With iron in his voice, he said, “Try again, Goblin.”

Flitwick looked as though he would refuse, then closed his eyes and gritted his teeth as he repeated the words again, with the required addition, “Draco Lucius Malfoy and Hermione Jean Granger, do you each take the other to be your wedded partner, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to care for and protect, with magic and without, to love and cherish, forever and always?”

“I do,” Hermione said, her voice only somewhat shaking. Draco tried to say the same, but he couldn’t force the words out. The silence stretched, and he could see the little witch beside him turning her fear and pain into a quiet fury at him. Her eyes came up to seek his, her anger snapping at him through the expressive chocolate depths. He knew he needed to say something, but his brain was suddenly short circuiting and he could barely remember where they were and what they were doing.

Lord Voldemort spoke, “Do recall, ungrateful child, that the other choice for you is a slow death. Oh, and your mother would suffer along with you. Do you take the vow or not?”

“I do,” Draco managed, his throat dry and whole body shaking, “I do take her, always and forever and all that.” Granger was still fuming, but let out the faintest huff of what seemed to be relief.

“Now. Give me your hands - Hermione your left, Draco your right.” Flitwick picked up the cursed knife as he instructed them. He made a small, precise cut on Hermione’s palm. She sucked in a breath, but gave no other sign of how it felt. Turning to Draco, the Professor grasped the boy’s hand. Draco was confused by the angry gleam in his teacher’s eye and the satisfied smirk he was aiming at him. Draco yelped as the little man sliced all the way across his hand. It stung like being hexed and made the flesh around the cut feel burnt. When he jerked away, the cut turned out far more jagged and almost to his wrist. Professor Flitwick chuckled softly as he immediately stuck their wounds together and began chanting.

“Aeris et in terra  
aqua et igni  
Sanguinem in sanguinem,  
Duo in carne una,  
Vita et virtus obligandi, iunctoque volumine millia metretas, ad trahendum simul ut et invenies in perpetuum.  
Sanguine meo sanguine: meus es tu.  
Sic fiat semper.”

Halfway through, the thorny rose vine that had decorated Granger’s arm slithered down around their hands to bind them more tightly. Both of them gasped as the thorns dug in. Draco felt his blood tingle, his magic pulse to life, and a pull from deep within toward the girl beside him. He found himself saying, “Ego tua usque in sempiternum” with no idea what it even meant. A beat after, he heard her say, “Vos autem mea in sempiternum.” His sudden awareness of her felt like fire. He had to actively fight his own urge to turn and begin kissing her, reminding himself that this was the mudblood and they were right in front of his Lord and Master.  
Suddenly, the rose vine began to glow, and its magic seemed to sink into their skin as the vine itself burned away. He didn’t know how Granger felt about it, but Draco was overwhelmed with feeling. He was terrified, still reeling from the battle, achingly aroused, and disgusted by himself at the same time. He couldn’t stop quivering, and his fear was exhausting. Draco just wanted to go up to his room, have some firewhiskey, and sleep away the horrors of this day. But also...he now felt a desperate pull to touch the woman beside him, to snog her, shag her until neither of them could move. He had never before felt desire like this.

“I believe this brings us to the fun part, yes?” The Dark Lord gleefully commented when everything was still for a moment. Flitwick seemed even more upset and angry than before. The Death Eaters and other minions were bubbling over with delighted chatter, and he heard a sob from the dais that he knew was his mother.  
“Get on with it, Little Malfoy.” There were snickers all around and Draco was suddenly sure he was not going to like whatever was about to happen.

“M-my Lord, I’ve married the mudblood as you wished. What would you have me do now?” Draco was shaking as he said it. How bad would it be? It was always bad. He hated the fear that coursed through his veins. At the same time, the pull he felt to Granger was becoming more overwhelming by the moment. He still hadn’t dared look at her. 

“Consummation, child. Do you need an explanation of how it’s done?” There was laughter everywhere, with some rather obscene suggestions shouted from the rows of chairs. Of course. Draco should have known quite well that would be part of it. A binding like that wouldn’t be complete until they were physically joined in every possible way. He closed his eyes for a moment, then held out his arm to her, “Come with me,” he said, trying to sound confident, “What proof would you like, my Lord?”

“You won’t need to worry about bringing any proof to us,” Lord Voldemort smiled, “Come closer, my friends. There’s a show to watch.” Draco felt the blood drain from his face. People began flowing to the front of the room and forming a circle around Draco and Hermione. He felt her go absolutely rigid before finally beginning to behave as he originally expected from her - twisting to escape him, hitting and kicking at him.

“You stay away from me!” she screamed at him.

He felt a pain deep inside as his own need for her grew but his heart was compelling him to listen to her and stay away. “Stop trying to fight me,” he yelled back, wrapping one arm around her waist and one above her breasts so that he could add a whispered “please” straight into her ear. “Don’t get us killed now,” Draco begged, though he instantly felt shame and regret for saying it. Perhaps they would be better off.

Before he could say another word, she kicked backward hard, hitting his shin while also throwing her head back to crack into his. She was suddenly free and running.

The crowd caught her, of course. They were clearly enjoying her fighting against them. 

“Goblin,” Lord Voldemort barked.

“Yes?” Flitwick piped with a tone of exhaustion and something a little more rebellious.

“I thought that the blood rite would make them irresistibly drawn to one another. That they wouldn’t be able to keep their hands off?”

Flitwick smiled at that, “Well, some Goblin blood rituals do that.”

The Dark Lord looked livid. Draco felt a jolt of fear for his former professor. “Avada Kedavra” Voldemort growled, taking out the tiny professor in one swift swish. Without missing a beat, he turned back to the crowd, “I think our groom needs his little wife back.”

**********************************************************

************IF YOU DO NOT WISH TO READ NON-CON, STOP HERE**********

They started to just fling her back, when Dolohov jumped down from the dais and said, “Don’t give her back to him like that. He won’t know what to do with her,” and ripped the dress off of her shoulders. Someone else grabbed the skirt and tugged. In moments, there were hands everywhere ripping the dress away piece by piece. 

Draco’s mind was blank. All he could do was stare at what they were doing, desperate to think of a way to stop it, but just as desperate to see her, to touch her body without that dress. Suddenly his Aunt Bella was beside him, gently pulling off his outer robe, and touching him as inappropriately as she always did, “Drakey, it’s time for you to be undressed, too. We want to see all of you while you fuck the little mudblood into the floor.” Her fingers were tracing down his chest, the nails dragging just enough to make him shudder with revulsion, when he realized that Hermione, with tears streaming down her cheeks, was now completely nude. He was distracted by her gorgeous body, a surprise she had kept wrapped under bulky robes. His aunt sliding downward to undo his trousers brought Draco back to himself with a start. He tried to push her away but she just laughed. He knew no matter how disgusted he was by the wandering hands of his own aunt, he was lucky there weren’t more witches on him. A small blessing of being cast so far down by the Dark Lord. No matter how attracted he had been only moments before, how much of a magical pull the blood ritual had just created toward Granger, the reality of what was going on had doused the flame in his body. Jeers from the crowd around them were beginning to overwhelm him when Lord Voldemort stood.

“What is taking so long, little Malfoy?” Everyone laughed. 

Draco took a shaky breath, “My Lord, I don’t want to do this with an audience like this. She...she belongs to me alone.” Seeing a momentary flash of rage across the Dark Lord’s face, he rushed on, a blush covering his entire body, “Physically, my Lord. I don’t think I can. This disgusts me.” He waved his hand vaguely in Hermione’s direction. What Draco was truly thinking was that the situation was abhorrent, but he hoped, and was proven correct, that his Lord would accept it as Granger being beneath him.

“Clearly the mudblood is too dirty for our pureblood prince, here. Bella, weren’t you just telling me of a new twist you’ve come up with for the imperius? Something to let the accursed be more aware of what they are doing?”

Bella giggled with delight, “Oh yes, my Lord. And won’t this be a fun way to test it?”

MacNair stepped up, “Could do a libido potion as well. Apparently the kid needs the help.” Draco felt a deep shame as a potion was passed to the front of the room and shoved in his hand while everyone laughed.

“You will drink it now,” the Dark Lord commanded. Draco knew that his choices were drinking it or a night of wishing he were dead. He hesitated too long, though, and was suddenly screaming as the Dark Lord hit him with the most powerful crucio he had ever endured. Despite him lifting it far more quickly than usual, Draco was left barely breathing on the ground, unable to stop shaking and moaning. “Get up, pathetic child, and drink the potion so we can watch you pretend to be a man.”

His aunt looked at him with contempt and chanted in a sing song voice, “Imperio Conscientia!” and he truly could NOT do anything but comply. Draco had been imperiused before, but it was nothing like this. This was far stronger than anything he had felt before. His own thoughts and desires, while still there, felt crushed beneath the knowledge that he would cross the circle and begin to fuck the nude woman across from him. He could not resist it. Yet, he wasn’t pleasantly zoned out. He didn’t have that blissful feeling that he didn’t have to worry about anything, just follow orders. 

He wasn’t in a haze where he wouldn’t know what he had done. Instead, his senses were sharpened. He was hyper aware of everything around him. And….hyper aware of himself, of the emotions he would normally do everything he could to hide. His attraction, that deep pull toward Granger was back and far more intense now. But his disgust was so strong - disgust at the people around him, at the men who had stripped Granger down and were now pawing at her, at his Aunt and her neverending attempts to pet and grope him, but most of all, disgust at himself for what he knew he was about to do. 

Despite his disgust, his fear of the Dark Lord, the embarrassment of people watching, and despite being absolutely certain he wanted nothing to do with this, Draco found his cock growing larger and harder than he could ever remember before. Desire was coursing through his system, both the pull toward her from their binding and the inescapable urges from the potion. His aunt was holding him by the shoulders, holding him back away from the woman his body desired. He was deeply embarrassed that his body wanted to actually thrust, and worse that he couldn’t stop himself from doing it. Bellatrix’s laugh tickled across his skin.

“Draco, dear, are you feeling desperate for that girl over there?”

He was compelled to answer, and he couldn’t deny it.

“Do you want to touch her everywhere and fuck her into the ground?”

He whimpered, but again had to agree.

“Do you want to degrade yourself with her muddy blood?”

“No.” That hadn’t changed.

“She’s a virgin, you know. Several of the kind gentlemen over there have confirmed it. So you’ll be slick from her blood. Does that disgust you?”

“Yes.” Draco felt like throwing up. At least they were both coming into this with no idea of what they were doing, but the way Aunt Bella had phrased it made him sick. And somehow taking Granger’s virginity felt so much worse than losing his own. Especially when everyone knew about her but he was still able to keep his status a secret.

Bellatrix walked around in front of him and looked straight into Draco’s eyes. “Are you excited to rape and ravage this nasty mudblood? Your former classmate? Your wife?” She spat out that last word. 

Draco shuddered. “No.”

Bella began to cackle. “Then I guess being aware of what’s happening won’t be much fun for you. Such a shame, dear. Now. Fuck her brutally. Rape her and make her bleed.”

He could do nothing but comply, no matter how much he didn’t want to. He was soon crying nearly as hard as she was, but it didn’t stop his body from following Bella’s depraved commands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of these translations were just done with a google translator from English to Latin. If anyone speaks/reads Latin and has corrections for me, I would be happy to be more accurate.
> 
> Bonding Rites:  
> Earth and Air  
> water and fire  
> blood into blood,  
> Two become one  
> binding life and power, cores intertwining, to pull together as one.  
> Blood of my blood, you are mine.  
> So mote it be.
> 
> Ego tua usque in sempiternum I am yours forever.  
> Vos autem mea in sempiternum You are mine forever.


	4. Morning After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still not JKR and these characters are still, most unfortunately, hers. The plot is mine.

Monday, May 4, 1998; morning

Draco’s head was pounding when he awoke. He felt sore but sated, with an oddly peaceful feeling infusing his entire being. Then he stretched, and realized three things: he was naked, there was dried blood on his body, especially his upper thighs and cock, and he wasn’t alone in the bed. His breath was suddenly coming in gasps. He realized with relief that the bed’s other occupant was still sleeping. As the sordid memories of what he had done to her came back to him, his self-loathing returned, but also arousal, bringing a whole new wave of revulsion. 

As quickly and quietly as he could, Draco scurried out of the bed. He didn’t want to wake her, almost hoped she would never wake up so he didn’t have to face her. He rushed to the loo and was sick as quietly as he could manage. When he had nothing left, he moved to the shower, turned the water scalding hot, and vigorously scrubbed the stains off his body. He wished he could scrub the stains on his soul away so easily. Then he chastised himself for thinking such whimsical bullshit. His father was right that he didn’t deserve to be called a Malfoy. Of course, his father also bought him just enough time to make an heir before he would be a corpse instead of a Malfoy. 

Draco shuddered - for himself, but also with a fresh wave of shame when he thought of the whole making-an-heir business. With his wife. The one he had brutally raped last night, taking her virginity, and his own, in front of a crowd of rabid Death Eaters. It had been horrible. 

To his continued horror, he found himself rock hard at the slightest thought of her - even the things from last night. The awful things he had been forced to do didn’t matter. Making himself think about her dirty blood or how far beneath him she was didn’t help. He was married to the swotty, bookworm, Mudblood, one-third of the Golden Trio - a girl he had despised since first year. But none of it mattered. Nothing was making him want her any less. He felt sick again. His vision blurred and in his mind, he saw a slim, shimmering cord of magic from himself and heading out into his bedroom, straight to Granger. His body wanted to follow that line of magic and consummate over and over and over. 

Draco wasn’t stupid. He knew this intense desire had to be caused by yesterday’s blood rite. Rituals like that often included a physical need for each other for some time after. It didn’t make the feelings any less disgusting. As the water ran over his sensitive body, he tried to resolve what to do next. How could he possibly face her? How should he face her? How would the Dark Lord expect him to behave? Them to behave, since Granger would now be expected to perform for him as well. Did he bring her in as an accomplice to the act? Or did he play this off as though he was happy to go along with having her bound to him like some sort of slave? The thought made his blood feel like ice. But. He had been a Slytherin for a reason. His mind was playing through different scenarios and weighing odds when he heard a sound. 

*******************************************

Ron sat on the bed next to Harry’s, pretending to play chess with his best friend. Madam Pomfrey said that talking to him might help bring him out, so Ron spoke with a cheerful voice as he asked Harry what move he wanted to make, then discussed whether or not it was a good plan. 

Plans. There should be something beyond this! Ron was trying his hardest to remain calm, but so much was wrong. And so little was being done about it. Professor Lupin, for all that he said he wasn’t their leader, was clearly the person in charge. Unfortunately, trying to talk to him about needing to rescue Hermione and the others was like trying to talk to a wall. Lupin would blink at him, sigh, and apologize in that weary tone, but still say no. This last time, he had added that Ron was welcome to offer any plan he had come up with to Kingsley. He would be there in an hour for a meeting.

Ron stared at his chess board. And then slowly began to smile. A plan. If only they knew where the prisoners had been taken, he was sure he could get them out.

****************************************

Hermione woke with a start. She had nearly screamed from her nightmares. Now she barely bit back a scream when she looked down at herself, bruises and blood everywhere, and knew again that last night was real. She was in a luxurious bed, nude, but thankfully alone. She could make an educated guess that she was in Draco Malfoy’s bedroom. The furniture was grandiose, but there were a few personal effects that spoke of a young boy’s room. Quidditch posters, mostly, though she also noticed a couple of picture frames and could see the platinum blond even from a distance.

As her brain went into overdrive, she realized with surprise that no one had tied her up or done anything to keep her there. Of course, with no wand, and presumably in the middle of the Death Eater headquarters, the odds of slipping out unnoticed were bleak - especially naked, sore, and still bloodied. Hermione shuddered as the thoughts she had been trying to ignore came back full force. She began to gasp for air as the memories rolled over her. She needed a shower and clothes. Immediately. Wrapping the sheet around herself, she decided she was going to find out which door led to a bathroom. As she approached, she could hear water running. It had to be him. Her husband. Her rapist. Logically, she knew he had been a victim, too. Logic wasn’t making much impact on her emotions this morning. His body had hurt her so badly. Over and over again. And the people all around them. Hermione couldn’t breathe again. 

It was time for her shower. He could bloody well get out. She slammed the bathroom door open and came to an abrupt halt. The boy was standing there, dripping water, having clearly just turned the water off and pulled the curtain open. He hadn’t had time to grab a towel yet. Despite the horrors of the night before, that suddenly seemed like a very good thing. With the water sliding down his alabaster skin, he looked like a god, better than a Greek statue, all lean muscle and a raging hard-on. Hermione was too stunned to say a word, certainly not to demand her turn at the shower. Her body responded to the sight of him. She found herself moving closer.

“Granger,” he choked out, “I’m so sorry. I…” He trailed off, seemingly just realizing how displayed he was and how she was looking at him. His entire body flushed pink. She licked her lips and kept walking until her hand reached out and touched his chest. Without saying anything, in a trance, her finger slowly chased a droplet of water downward, across his abs and down the middle of the V at his pelvis. Draco appeared to stop breathing. He was so hard that his cock was standing at full attention and her finger was nearly ready to run along it. Merlin, he wanted that. Hermione wasn’t sure how she knew, but she did. Not just intuition, but something far deeper. 

There was a tiny voice in the back of her brain saying things she didn’t want to listen to but knew she should. This was just the ritual playing out. There is no way either of them truly wanted this. She should stop it. One of them had to stop it.

“Hermione,” Draco moaned. She knew he didn’t mean it the way it sounded, but their desire was too intense, “Please…”

She took that as an invitation and changed from the single finger to running her hand along his length. She made a little sound. It was meant to be an affirmation of his moan and the promise that she would continue. It came out as a low and playfully evil chuckle.

If she had been trying for subtle seduction, that sound alone would have wrapped him around her finger. Unfortunately for him and whatever resolve he was trying to fight for, she was not being subtle at all. She now had her hand firmly around his cock dragging slowly up and down and it was pushing him toward an edge he should have been nowhere near. His panting confirmed it. Draco reached for her but she took a step back, pulling his length as she did, then letting it go to stand on its own again. He gasped and then whimpered at the loss of her hand.

“You don’t get to touch me without my permission,” she hissed at him, her voice furious. Her eyes, dark with lust, didn’t match the tone. Draco obviously wasn’t sure what to do, his hands clenched at his sides. She looked down at them and laughed again, that low, seductive chuckle. “That’s right. Your hands do nothing unless I tell them to.” Her voice was delicious; she could see it in his eyes, feel it quivering through this link they shared. She felt powerful knowing just how deeply this was affecting him.

Staring straight into his eyes, Hermione moved closer to him. So close that her lips touched his chest, right where her finger had first touched. She flicked her tongue out to taste his skin, then slowly began to descend as the water droplet and her finger had done before. Lips and tongue and never breaking eye contact. That last seemed to be what was getting to him the most. Draco quivered with the intensity of this moment. He was clearly desperate to move, to do something to her to take back control. But he didn’t dare move his hands. Her eyes still hadn’t left his and he couldn’t disappoint her.

She sank to her knees as her greedy lips came close to his cock. Draco felt even harder than he had last night on that potion. No. She would not think of last night! Only what was in front of her. Her eyes never left his as her tongue came out and swirled around his tip. He thrust forward helplessly as his hands moved to run through her hair.

Fury surged through her. She licked from the base of his shaft to the tip, then backed up, ripping his hands away from her. The fire in her eyes had shifted from lust to anger, a healthy dose of disgust mixed in. 

“Why would I ever let your hands touch me again, Malfoy? Do you think I’ve forgotten the things you did to me last night?” She knew it wasn’t his fault. She didn’t care right now.

“Merlin, I didn’t want to do any of that! I would never...that’s...it disgusts me! What happened last night disgusts me.” Draco‘s tone was frantic.

“Oh yes,” she cried venemously, “Of course it disgusts you that you had to fuck a mudblood in front of everyone. How humiliating, right?”

Draco reeled back as though she had physically struck him. Slowly, he said, “I would never touch a woman who doesn’t want it. I might not consider you worthy of a Malfoy, but I...it’s not because of your blood.”

She was stunned for a moment. “Then what the hell would make you think I’m not ‘worthy’ of you?”

It took him a moment to respond. She knew that he was feeling deeply conflicted and confused. He swallowed hard before repeating one of his father’s mantras, “Malfoys are better than anyone else.” She looked at him incredulously, but he rambled on, “We’re basically wizard royalty. Everyone is below us.”

Hermione stared at him, her lip curling in disgust. “I need a bath, and a healer, but I’ll settle for the first for now,” she said, “Get out.”

Draco didn’t argue, rushing out with a final projected feeling of relief. With him out of the room, she was suddenly deeply embarrassed by the way she had reacted to his body. How could she want to touch him, even to take control, after everything? 

***********************************************

The hospital ward was chaos once again. This time, though, it had only taken a single person to throw it into such a crazed state. 

Severus Snape had been listed among the dead. Ron had been certain of it, personally saw him take his last breath after Nagini attacked him. Later, Harry had briefly told Ron and Hermione some tripe about Snape being a hero, something about watching the memories Snape gave him, but that was all he got before the final push of the battle played out. 

Good or bad, the man was now laying in the ward while Madam Pomfrey rushed around trying to stabilize him. All of her usual helpers were among the wounded, missing, or dead, so it was an overwhelming task. “You!” she shouted at Ron, “Get me two blood replenishing potions and Skelegro. The snake venom has nearly melted through some of his bones. I’ll have to vanish them and let them regrow.” Ron shuddered at that thought as he rushed to the cabinet where potions were kept. 

Nearby, Lupin and Shacklebolt were arguing whether the man should be kept up here or down in the dungeons. The building crew that found him was still there. Seamus Finnegan was screaming that they should finish him off instead of healing him. Dean Thomas was having a hard time holding him back. Ginny had been the one who insisted they bring him to Madam Pomfrey, and had floated him all the way from the grounds to ensure he made it there. The rest of Ron’s family had already been in the hospital wing, gathered around Molly and Harry’s beds. Arthur, Bill, and Percy were standing protectively around their loved ones since the moment they saw who was being brought in. Ron had been with them at first. Now it seemed he would be helping.

“Will he be ok?” Ginny asked Madam Pomfrey. 

The older woman huffed and looked irritated as she worked. “It has taken him almost two days to make it to the castle. He must have had some sort of antidote, but that snake has the strongest venom I have ever heard of. There is no way to know if he will survive.”

Ron couldn’t help but speak up, “Why do you care about the traitorous git getting better, Gin? Why do any of us?” He looked skeptically at the potions in his own hands as he slowed to a walk. 

“He’s a potions master, Ron! And he was a double agent for years. He may know something to bring Harry back! Or Mum! Might have information that will help us find Hermione and Charlie,” his sister gritted out. 

Ron realized he should have put that together himself. He quickened his steps to Madam Pomfrey and handed over the things she had requested. As she whispered the spells to make Snape drink down the potions, his eyes snapped open. 

“McGonagall,” he growled, after swallowing the last bit.

“She’s been taken,” Pomfry said matter-of-factly. 

Snape looked extremely distressed. “Potter,” he managed.

Lupin suddenly bounded over from his conversation with Shacklebolt and snarled, “What do you want with the boy?”

Snape sent his old enemy a withering glare. “Gave him...memories.”

Ginny seemed to understand what he meant before anyone else. “Harry can’t tell us about any memories right now. He’s been unconscious since the battle. We need help bringing him out of it.”

“Ginny!” Lupin, Shacklebolt, and Mr. Weasley cried together. “That’s more than he needs to know,” Shacklebolt ground out with finality.

“No.” Ginny defied, “Ron told me Harry said something mental about Snape being one of us after all. I bet there’s something in those memories that we don’t know about. And we have to have Harry back! It doesn’t matter which side Professor Snape was on before.” Her look became steely, “If he wants us to help him get better, he will help Harry.”

The adults looked shocked for a moment, then Lupin began to nod. “That makes sense. Once Harry is awake, he could tell us what Snape shared with him and we’ll better know what to do with him.”

Madam Pomfrey had had enough. “He won’t be helping anyone if you don’t all get back and let me finish working on him. Then he’ll need rest. Out of my ward, the lot of you!”

“Wait,” came the commanding tone of Professor Snape. “Malfoy Manor. You must save the ones taken.” His voice weakened as he spoke, passing out before he could say another word.

Malfoy Manor. Ron knew exactly how to make his plan work.

************************************************

Draco was relieved to be out of the bathroom, away from Hermione. He couldn’t believe the way she had touched him - or how his body still burned for more. His mind was spinning trying to push back the lust and lure to her. She needed a healer. Merlin, what had he done to her? He knew what he had done, but he didn’t want to imagine what the damage actually looked like, what it was or where exactly. 

“Mimsy,” he called. A small elf wearing a clean but heavily-mended pillowcase appeared.

“Mimsy is here, Master Draco, sir. What would he be having Mimsy do?” There was disapproval in her voice, as though she expected to dislike his orders.

Draco sighed, knowing how disappointed she was in him. “I just need Healer Zabini, Mimsy. Please bring him here.”

Her fists landed on her hips. “Did Master Draco get hurt again? Where? Mimsy not be seeing it,” she scolded.

“It’s not for me. It’s for my w…a woman who needs help.”

Mimsy gave a little squeal. “Oh, the new Mistress! You be calling her what she is, Master Draco! You hurts her, I hears. Theys talk about it all over. Mimsy get Mister Blaise for Mistress.”

With that the little elf popped away. Draco dropped onto the bed and put his head in his hands. The crushing guilt was weighing him down. More than just that, though - what was he supposed to do with a wife, especially one who hated him? And who he would need to protect. Last night had been horrific, and he knew his master well enough to know the evil creature wouldn’t let that be the only incident of using her for entertainment. Using them for entertainment. What would he do? He was still sitting there on the bed when Mimsy returned with his old friend. 

She immediately walked around the room straightening and with a snap of her fingers changed the bloody sheets. Shaking her head, she said, “I just be greeting the new Mistress and help her. You make him good, Mister Blaise,” she said before disappearing into the bathroom.

Blaise sat down next to Draco. They heard a small squeal from the other room. It was a moment before he spoke. “Granger, eh? Never thought we would see you get to live out that little fantasy.”

Draco jerked his head up to meet his friend’s eyes, “What?”

“Come on now. We all know you secretly fancied her. But all the blood stuff…” Blaise let out a sharp bark of a laugh. “Then Lord Pureblood Supremacy marries you off to the biggest mudblood in our world.”

“Shut it, Blaise!” Draco said in a frantic whisper, “You’re too careless. Of course I didn’t fancy her. And you can’t make fun of the Dark Lord like that!”

“Draco, Theo warded this room himself. It’s probably the safest place in the whole manor. You know I’m not afraid to talk plainly here.”

“He hasn’t been able to come up and strengthen things in a couple of weeks, Blaise. They’re keeping him on double guard rotation, and now handling the prisoners, too. He looked ill the last time I saw him. Thank Merlin they don’t know how talented he is or he would never be allowed sleep.”

“Ha! They would have him chained to Bellatrix...or maybe the damn snake...if they knew everything he’s capable of. It’s ludicrous that they think he’s just a common guard.”

“It’s lucky they believe he’s the useless sod his father thinks he is.”

“Lucky for us,” Blaise laughed, as he did some diagnostics around the room, “You’re awful at even maintaining what he does.”

Draco gave a grunt of irritation. “I told you to mind your mouth for a reason.” He stood and offered his own magic to Blaise as his friend shored up the complicated wards. They worked together for a few moments before Draco spoke again. “He really is lucky, you know.”

“I do,” Blaise agreed quietly. “So am I. I’m sorry you have to go through this kind of thing, mate. Last night was…”

“Don’t,” Draco sighed. “It was worse for her anyway. Blaise, she needs healing. I don’t know quite what...I...I did something to her down there, I think. There was blood all over both of us when we woke up.”

“I’m not surprised, but had hoped it might not be so bad.” Blaise looked concerned. If he noticed the way Draco’s skin had blushed pink while he stumbled over what had to be said, he didn’t comment. Instead, he stood from the bed and began walking toward the bathroom. He paused before he got to the door, “Draco. I think it might be best if you go take care of some Death Eater business, don’t you? Something outside your rooms?”

*************************************

There was a knock on the door that stopped Hermione in the midst of her argument with the stubborn little elf. She had been terrified when the elf popped in unannounced and introduced herself. Soon, though, she had found herself frustrated. Of course she didn’t want to upset her, and it did seem like Mimsy meant well, but she was also insistent that Hermione get out of the tub, let her dry her off, and that she only wear a robe to see the healer ‘Master Draco’ had brought. She wasn’t the least bit interested in being freed or paid, either. Hermione found the whole thing irritating, though she had to admit that Mimsy clearly shared her opinion of the maddening nature of their conversation. 

Despite being in only the robe - as Mimsy had insisted - Hermione was in enough pain that she was relieved by the arrival of the healer - until she realized she knew him. 

“Zabini!” she gasped.

“Healer Zabini, these days, my lady,” he said with a gracious bow. Even so, Hermione was backing away from him as she clutched at the robe. He stayed where he was and raised both hands in a surrendering gesture; his wand wasn’t even out. His rich, low voice soothed, “I’m not here to hurt you.”

Hermione felt her knees buckling as she collided with the wall as far from him as she could get. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think past the spinning in her mind. 

“Young Mistress!” she heard the little elf cry in distress and felt the withered little hand patting her own, “Master Draco only trust Mister Blaise. They has always been friends. Mimsy changed theys diapeys together. Mister Blaise bestest healer. Hims always…”

Blaise cut in over the elf, “Mimsy. Let me talk to my patient, please. Stay with us.” He turned his attention back to Hermione and let his voice slow down so that it felt like it was rolling smoothly over her, as calming as a balm might be. “Granger, you aren’t alone with me. Mimsy is staying. She’s right here. I’m told you are hurt more than Malfoy would be able to fix, probably some internal damage I imagine. First I’m going to stay right here and do a diagnostic. I’ll be using my wand.”  
His tone had calmed her enough that she didn’t scream when he slowly brought his wand up and pointed it at her, but she did begin shaking and her breathing was quite beyond her control as it sped off again. 

“Deep breath, love,” he muttered distractedly. Hermione took a couple of deep gulps for air and tried to study the magical symbols dancing above her. Unfortunately they didn’t mean anything to her. The worried look in his eyes was telling her, though, that the news was not good. After a moment, he looked directly into her eyes, “Granger...Hermione...you have to be in terrible pain right now.” 

She whimpered in response, trying to hold back a sob as he took half a step toward her. His voice was still low and smooth, but it took on a more urgent tone. “There are internal tears and bleeding. I’m afraid they’re getting worse with your heart sped up like this and standing as you are. Come on, love, you have to let me near enough to heal you.”

She shook her head as tears overflowed down her cheeks. Everything did hurt, and the pain was much worse since she left the tub, but Hermione couldn’t stand the thought of a man’s hands on her. Some background part of her brain pointed out that not even an hour ago she had been running her hands over Draco Malfoy’s nude body and now she couldn’t cope with the idea of a male healer helping her. Yes, he was a Slytherin, but Blaise Zabini had never said anything himself or even egged Malfoy on much. Relatively speaking, she had far more reason to trust him than Malfoy. Her sobs became a little bit giggly and she realized she was sliding toward hysteria.

Zabini and Mimsy exchanged a concerned look. He turned to rummage through a healer’s bag she hadn’t noticed him bring in. He handed a potion vial to Mimsy. “Granger. This is a calming draught. Please just take it so I can help you, love.”

She shook her head when Mimsy got near her with it. The older elf gave an exasperated sigh. “Yous be taking this young Mistress. Mister Blaise musts be healing you now.” Her little hands wrapped around Hermione’s wrist with a strength she wouldn’t have imagined and shoved the potion into her mouth. Hermione started to fight, but almost instantly was hit by the scent and soothing taste of the calming draught. She sighed contentedly and let her legs slide her down the wall...leaving a trail of blood on the wall and starting to pool between her legs. 

Blaise made a startled sound and leapt forward to be by her side, muttering about stubborn fools. He laid her all the way down on the floor. He nodded to Mimsy and she gently held Hermione’s top half down while he parted her robe and began some fancy wandwork down below. He rambled while he worked, his voice not quite as smooth and soothing, no longer meant for a frightened animal, but still low and reassuring, “That was a rough bit there, love. It should feel better in just a moment. I don’t blame you for being so scared, Granger. I wouldn’t let anyone near me after that either. I’m sorry I’m not of the girly persuasion. Might have made this a bit easier. That lousy git calling me a bit sooner might have made this easier, too. Though Salazar knows how much worse it might be with that arsehole in the room.”

Hermione had been letting his words roll over her along with the waves of calm from the potion, but she giggled distantly at that. Blaise paused his rambling to raise an eyebrow at her. Before she could stop herself, she found her tongue dribbling out the story of their encounter this morning, giggling through it all. That distant part of her brain was now wondering how strong that calming draught had been as she had clearly lost her mind. And lost it so thoroughly that she had brought the verbose healer to a moment of utter speechlessness. 

It was Mimsy who broke the silence. “Young Mistress and Master is still blood-bound. Blood rites is strong.”

“Of course,” Blaise agreed, “I’ve never seen goblin blood rituals performed before, but they’re supposed to be wickedly strong on humans. Now. You’re healed, but you need rest. Here’s a Dreamless Sleep potion. That’s a good girl, love.” She was already falling asleep as he scooped her up and tucked her back into Malfoy’s bed.


	5. Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still don't own the Harry Potter characters, etc. 
> 
> I do want to thank @highlyintelligentblonde for becoming my beta as of this week! 
> 
> Trigger Warnings: mentions of violence and rape, though none takes place in this chapter

Monday, May 4, 1998; late afternoon

Hermione woke to the hushed sounds of two low voices rumbling back and forth at one another. Her brain felt a little fuzzy for a moment before snapping to attention. One of the voices was undoubtedly the soothing tones of Zabini. The other voice was intensely familiar and simply hearing it shot a pulse of heat straight through her. She barely bit back a moan, deciding to see what they were talking about before letting anyone know she was awake.

“...his own business! My fucking father had to keep bitching about me marrying a damn mudblood and how awful it is and now….NOW they’re saying tonight’s entertainment will be to show us that not everyone would mind fucking the mudblood. What the fuck does that mean, Blaise?!” He sounded like he was hyperventilating.

“Whatever it means, you’re not going to be ready to face it if you can’t calm down.” Zabini sounded nearly as worked up as Malfoy, but trying to keep a soothing healer voice anyway. 

“Calm down!? How? The dark lord is still furious at my entire family. He tortured Dolohov last night and made it clear that it was Mother’s fault. Father dueled him earlier but you know that’s not the end of it. Mother is barely able to stand after everything she went through last night. The dungeons of my childhood home are filled with people I know. The hallways of my home are filled with monsters I wish I didn’t know. My best friends are all trapped here on my account. I’ve got a mudblood wife who nearly bled out earlier because she’s so afraid - thanks to me - that she couldn’t let the healer touch her. And I can’t think straight because, thanks to that stupid ritual, all the blood that should be in my head is in my cock wanting to slam that little swot into the bed or the wall or wherever I can catch her and fuck her until we both pass out.” Malfoy was panting at the end of his tirade. 

Hermione shuddered slightly hearing Malfoy so bluntly describe what he wanted to do to her, but she honestly couldn’t say if it was because of how much it terrified her or how much she also wanted it. The level of Malfoy’s panic over everything else made her very worried. Zabini’s reaction doubled her anxiety.

Zabini spoke then, “Malfoy. This isn’t the first time everything has been shit. Theo and I won’t abandon you here. Your mother and father went through an entire war before this one. They’ll make it through this one too. Granger...I don’t know what to say about her. If she’s still just a ‘mudblood’ to you, why do you care so much?”

There was silence. Hermione almost sat up to see what he was doing, how he was reacting, but he finally began sputtering inelegantly.

“She’s my wife, Blaise. Forever. This bloody intense attraction won’t last - I hope - but the marriage isn’t going away. So even if I hate her, I have to protect her.”

“Do you?” Zabini’s low, rich voice rolled out.

“Do I what?” Draco responded with a tone of exasperated confusion.

“Do you hate her?” 

Hermione almost gasped at the blunt question, straining her ears waiting for his reply.

“Of....of course I do. What kind of question is that?” Draco hissed. 

Blaise sighed. “I just wasn’t sure if you had decided she was a person or if she’s still just Potter’s mudblood to you.”

“Mine,” Draco snapped.

“What?” his old friend asked.

“She doesn’t belong to Potter,” Draco said, sounding nearly feral in his irritation, “She belongs to me now." 

Hermione spoke before she remembered she was supposed to be listening quietly, “I’ll have you know, Malfoy, I belong to no one but myself! Not Harry. Not you.” She sat up and almost let the sheet fall from her body before realizing she was only wearing a half untied robe with nothing underneath. “If I was going to belong to someone, it certainly wouldn’t be a pompous git who thinks I’m nothing more than a mudblood!” She was furious.

The two boys were staring at her. Draco’s grey eyes were huge for a moment before sliding into an icy neutral look. He stuck out his pointy chin and decorated his face with that familiar sneer. 

“You do belong to me and you’ll learn not to talk back.” He sounded almost as angry as she felt.

“What are you going to do about it when I do, Draco Malfoy?”

“Maybe you’ve forgotten, but you don’t have a wand.” He pointed out, “So I’ll do whatever I want to do to you.”

“Like you did last night?” she growled. 

His face went ghostly white. Blaise looked like he was about to say something when Draco suddenly went flying toward the wall on the other side of the room as Granger continued; 

“I may not have a wand, but I’m not defenseless. You would do well to remember that, ferret. I don’t know why you think you would be qualified, but I don’t need you to protect me either.”

“Yes you bloody well do,” Draco fumed, even with fear in his eyes as he tried to push himself off the wall and stand. Then, with his cheeks flushing, he asked, “How long have you been listening?”

She paused, calculating whether or not she was willing to give him that information. This whole argument needed to be refocused on more important topics. “Long enough to know that they have something planned for us tonight and we need to figure out what to do about it.”

Hermione could tell from the look that passed between the two boys that they were shocked by how long she had been listening and trying to mentally recount everything they had said in that time. 

It was Blaise who spoke first; “That is the most pressing issue right now. Draco, we don’t know what they meant when they said they would show your father how much others want the mudblood.”

“But I think we can safely surmise it means I’m up for grabs this evening,” Hermione said far more calmly than she felt.

“No,” Draco growled.

Blaise shook his head, “I have to agree with her, mate. They’re going to bank on you being a spoiled brat and demanding she belong only to you.” He was pacing now. “Fuck. They may even be planning to finish last night for you. For both of you.”

“Finish as in kill us?” Hermione asked, a little less calmly.

“No,” Draco said again, “Not her anyway. She’s too valuable as a prisoner.”

“You may have a point,” Blaise conceded, “Though they would probably be happy to finish her night the same way as last, just with crowd participation. You know there were many who wanted a piece of her last night.”

“I’m right here,” Hermione said, her voice trembling, “I follow your logic, but you won’t talk about me like I’m not a part of this conversation.”

“I’m not sure I want you to be part of the conversation,” Draco whined, “You’re just a mudblood. I should be treating you as I always have.”

“Don’t give me that tripe,” Hermione scoffed. “I heard what you were saying to Blaise, remember? You didn’t spell it out, but you clearly don’t look down on my blood status the same way you used to.”

Draco squirmed uncomfortably. He looked about ready to give a haughty retort when Blaise’s hand landed on his shoulder, “Just stop. We need to figure out how you’re going to play this tonight.”

“I have an idea,” Hermione stated. When she had their full attention, she continued. “Malfoy should continue to treat me as he always has when we’re in front of the Dark Lord. He’ll likely find some reason to punish us anyway, but it needn’t be because we’re getting along. When he suggests giving me to others, Malfoy acts the brat, but gives the excuse that he can’t be sure a potential heir is his if I’m given over to the crowd. That was supposedly the reason for our union.”

“He’s barking mad, Granger, nuttier than an oak,” Draco whispered, his voice so low she could barely hear it, “He won’t care what he did last night or why.”

She paused a moment. “Do you have a better idea?”

He looked defeated as he said, “No.”

************************************

Ginny was baking a pie. A number of pies, actually. She was using one of Molly’s recipes, but she had never baked one herself. The first 16 had been abysmal failures. But there was a meeting in a little while and Molly always provided pies for the meeting. The house elves had offered to do pies themselves, even use her Mum’s recipe, but Ginny couldn’t stand it. Harry always looked forward to the pies. She knew her brothers, the ones left, needed that pick-me-up. And what else would she do? 

While parts of the castle were still in shambles, acting-Headmistress Sprout had been consulting with Dumbledore’s portrait and some various texts from the founders, passed down through generations of Headmasters, and discovered that they needed to be building complicated wards into the walls as they went. The ancient magic was going to be hard to put together. Sprout wasn’t entirely sure there was anyone present at Hogwarts with enough power to perform the spells necessary, even if they could figure out quite what they were. She had declared herself unfit, bemoaning the loss of McGonagall.

Ginny thought they should talk to her brother, Bill, but he was a mess and busying himself with Ron today so she hadn’t had the heart to suggest it yet. Besides, it was time for the pies. Mum always said the most important ingredient was love, so Ginny tried her hardest to fill them with love. She felt like she was drowning in all the extra love she wanted to give to Fred, Charlie, and Mum with nowhere for it to go, so she had plenty to spare. Perhaps it might have made the pies delicious like Mum’s, but it was hard to tell when she either burnt or undercooked them every single time. 

She huffed. Just through trial and error she should have gotten a few right by now. Perhaps there was a way to communicate love to the order members through her Quidditch skills instead. Baking was clearly not her strong point. But neither was giving up. 

********************************************

The entire order was assembled for the first time since the battle. It was frightening to see how few of them there really were now, but heartening to be together and know that they were all determined. They had even tackled Ginny’s pies together, and some people had managed to choke some down. Ron felt good about that much. His sister was struggling badly and while he thought she was barmy for picking that as her project, he understood the need to push emotions into a project. He was just glad that his project might be a little more useful than hers. All he had to do was get the order to approve and move on it.

Convincing the older contingent was turning out to be far more complicated than Ron had expected. They deferred to Harry, but they just looked at him and saw a funny sidekick. His plan was sound, but it needed to be executed immediately if they wanted anything to be left to rescue. They had too many high profile prisoners and Kingsley and Lupin didn’t want to risk something happening to them.

“They’ll try to ransom them to us before long. Or trade for something or someone. Attacking such a heavily guarded estate is foolhardy at best.” Kingsley stated in a way that brooked no argument.

“What if they don’t?” Ron fumed. He was surprised when his eldest brother, Bill, also spoke up, “Why would we give them anything when we could take our people back with Ron’s plan?”

Kingsley and Lupin looked at Bill like he had betrayed them. Bill returned the look. Ron knew he was desperate to save Fleur and Charlie. His need to save his wife was almost savage. He had been tearing around the castle like a crazed animal trying to stay busy. And Charlie. They had always been close. Doing nothing about all this was killing him. 

When they didn’t say anything, Bill growled, “This is a solid plan. If one of you had thought of it instead of one of the kids, we would already be at Malfoy Manor. I would take Ron and do it ourselves, but his plan is the safer bet.”

“I would come even with just the two of you,” Lee Jordan volunteered.

“Oi. Me as well,” said George, followed by a chorus from almost every surviving member of the DA.

Bill looked around with a feral grin. “I think the kids outnumber you old folks, and they’re ready and willing to fight.”

“They’re brave Bill, but you need more numbers if you’re going to pull this off,” Lupin said. He sounded tired.

“I won’t have it!” Kingsley shouted. “We’ve lost too many people already and I’m not convinced you can get them out.”

“We’ve got too many people dying inside that manor!” Ron slammed his fist on the table; he was tired of arguing about it. 

“We don’t know that any of them are dying,” Lupin quietly corrected.

“We know they’re at least being tortured and that’s enough to get them out of there. Even if they all survive, they could be more damaged by the moment. We should go now.”

A silence filled the room.

“Without proper planning, it would be a disaster,” Kingsley spoke gravely.

Lupin held up his hands, “Kingsley. The kids are right this time. This plan can work, and it’s better done with the Aurors and other experienced members than if they go alone.” A cheer went up. “BUT!” he called over them, “we do need planning time. We will arrange the mission. Be ready to go tomorrow evening. Night will make the disillusionment charms more effective.”

Ron grinned in triumph. By this time tomorrow, he would have Hermione back. He just had to focus for now. Bill was waving him closer to himself, Remus, and Kingsley, so Ron swiftly joined them.

“Getting past the wards will be the hardest part…”


	6. Challengers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The characters and such still belong to JK Rowling, most unfortunately.

Monday, May 4, 1998; late evening

Draco was sweating and scared, but he was surprised by how well the evening had gone so far. Of course, the Dark Lord had indeed intended that Hermione be used by all during tonight’s entertainment. It wasn’t quite a revel since they were the only planned show for the night.

There had been some minor business to attend to first; the Dark Lord had been so pleased with his crazy aunt’s ideas the night before that he was giving her Longbottom to torture into oblivion and the Weasel brother as a toy. This had caused some grumbling as no one else received two prisoners, but there wasn't anyone willing to openly challenge their Lord’s second-in-command. McGonagall had been given to Crabbe’s wife as a maid - consolation for the death of their son. The other prisoners were being transferred to a different location.

Now it was their turn. Draco had done a stupendous job playing his part; he had been every inch the spoiled, arrogant git he needed to be, but he thought he was getting through to them with his argument. There really was no way to ensure his heir if the entirety of the Death Eaters had her tonight. 

Lord Voldemort threw back his head and laughed, “Dead men don’t need heirs.”

He had used the line on his father the night before, but Draco had the feeling it wasn’t a joke this time.

“Or pretty wives who deserve to be used by every man here,” he added. 

“Fine,” Draco said, voice shaking. “Fine, but if I’m to die, let me duel anyone who wishes to take her from me until…” he swallowed hard, “until I go down.”

“Hmmm,” the Dark Lord hummed as he observed Draco for a moment. “You’ve grown fond of the little mudblood. How cute.”

Draco did his best to steady his voice, “We’re blood-bound; I must protect her. And our child, whether conceived or yet to be, is precious to me.” Draco was surprised by how true these statements really were. He didn’t know if the bond was soul deep or not, but he felt like he would regret it forever if he didn’t save her, no matter what happened to him. It was stronger even than the urge to touch her.

Lord Voldemort looked around and sighed. “I do think some dueling might be fun to watch. Do understand, dear boy, that once you are disposed of, I will allow the others to have their way with her.

Draco turned almost red with rage. “And if I live through it?” he bit out. 

“If you can make it through 3 challengers, I will allow you to return to your chambers and fuck her privately. We can do this every evening until you die. Doesn’t that sound fun?” he chuckled dryly.

There was a smattering of applause before the Dark Lord asked for tonight’s 3 challengers. Greyback. Dolohov. Rowle. The only thing that could have made it worse would have been his mad Uncle Lestrange joining the party.

Of course he was wrong. The three challengers stepped up, drawing their wands in sync, clearly planning to take him together. That was worse. There was a movement behind him; Yaxley and Macnair threw Hermione roughly to the ground, bound and helpless. She had no wand. She was wearing a slip of a dress that barely covered her bum, and a tiny thong beneath it. 

“It will be motivating for everyone to keep the prize in mind, don’t you think?” the Dark Lord commented.

Draco gave a tight nod as his three challengers leered. Now he had her to protect as well. 

“There will be no killing curses thrown,” Lord Voldemort commanded. “When he goes down, we will let him watch what becomes of his wife before I torture and kill him myself.”

Draco shuddered; he had always been a bit of a coward. The Gryffindors weren’t the only ones who thought so; the Death Eaters branded him the same - only their reasoning was that he never killed anyone and did his solid best to avoid torturing. He threw mean hexes, sure, but never the worst ones. He wouldn’t learn how to turn someone’s organs inside out or how to vanish the skin. He had a carefully cultivated reputation for being squeamish about body things, going so far as to whine and carry on after battles when people were scratched up or worse. He had been known to faint if there was enough blood: whatever he had to do to avoid learning the worst things you could do to another human. Draco knew he wasn’t a coward; he was a survivor. Until today, everything he had done was for his, and his mother’s, ultimate survival. He was a good duelist, one of the best if you left out the terrifying horror spells, but it was certainly not a survivor’s move to duel three of the fastest, cruelest Death Eaters at once.

Lord Voldemort clapped his hands and the ballroom floor became something of an arena. Lucius and Narcissa had been given front row seats to ensure they didn’t miss any of it. Narcissa looked like she might pass out from fear. Lucius had a sneer plastered on his face. The rest of his followers gathered around the sides, shouting in anticipation. 

There was no warning before Rowle threw the first stunner. Draco dodged and sent one back. He threw up a shield before a shot of yellow light from Dolohov could hit him. He wasn’t sure which spell it was, but was certain that it was one he had been trying to avoid. The nastiest spells were Dolohov’s favorite. He lobbed an Expelliarmus at the bastard; it wasn’t his favorite spell, but Dolohov without a wand was considerably less terrifying. Predictably, Dolohov dodged it with a laugh, but it unexpectedly hit Greyback before he could get out his first spell. The wolf howled angrily as Draco tossed the wand as close as he could get to Granger. It was probably fruitless, given she was tied up, but he knew better than to underestimate her. 

The moment of dealing with the wand was a mistake, however. Rowle hit him with a slicing hex to his left shoulder. Draco gasped from the pain but was thankful it wasn’t his wand arm. An additional slice hit his right leg. Before he could react, there was another sickening yellow light coming at him from Dolohov. He barely got a shield up, a weak one at that. He could hear the man laughing through the ringing in his ears. A volley of yellow spells came at him at the same time he saw Greyback barreling toward him -- having thrown away all dueling etiquette. Suddenly, he was faced with an impossible choice -- did he stop the werewolf from physically attacking or try to erect a stronger shield to counter the barrage of spells? He threw everything he had into a shield and braced himself as best he could physically. 

Before Greyback could reach him, the wolf was thrown back. Draco knew it had to be Granger. His energy was giving out and he wouldn’t have been able to throw two spells at once. He was a good duelist; he wasn’t good enough for this. He had no choice but to try his hardest, but it was only a matter of time.

Rowle threw a Sectumsempra at the same time Dolohov threw Remotionem Pulmonem, and Draco’s shield began to fail as they laughed and chanted their next spells. He sent an easily dodged stunner at Dolohov as he realized Greyback was back up and running towards him again. 

As the next set of spells hit his shield, it began to crumble. Something hit his stomach and he began retching as he felt blood everywhere. Draco’s head was spinning as he was surrounded by the light of a powerful shield. Greyback was thrown back again, this time crumpling into a heap. Draco fought to stand straight, his left arm cradling the pain in his middle. He needed more energy, more power. But there was nothing, he had nothing left. He dropped to his knees, narrowly avoiding two more oncoming spells. Then, as though reminding him it was there, he felt a sparkling tingle along the invisible thread that connected him to Granger. A shimmer of energy coursed along the thread. It felt like a tidal wave of power overwhelming him with its need to burst out.

With a scream, Draco stood and discharged a volley of spells: Confrigo, Incendio, Stupefy, Expelliarmus. At the end, both Rowle and Dolohov lay on the ground, unconscious. Turning, he freed Granger from the binds that had held her in place. Completely spent, the surge of power gone, he fell back to his knees, barely keeping his upper body from collapsing as well. If he went down now, it would all have been for nothing. The room was completely silent, the gathered Death Eaters still making sense of what had happened.

Hermione rushed to him, scooping up Greyback’s wand on her way. She cast several quick healing spells on him before anyone could stop her. Voldemort stood, furious, and the wand jerked out of her hand to fly to him. 

“What did you do?” the Dark Lord fumed. Hermione screamed as he hit her with a Crucio. 

When she recovered, she called with a steady voice, “You said he could take me back to the room to rape me alone if he won.” Her voice was bitter, especially on the word “rape,” but quivered when she got to alone. Draco was amazed she could sound so calm after everything that had just happened. He only hoped it was enough to get them out of there. The bleeding had slowed, but he needed real healing. 

The Dark Lord laughed, “Am I to believe he has the fortitude to take you tonight? That was quite a display. I doubt he’ll have any magic left until his core rests, and I suspect you’re a handful even without a wand. Perhaps it would be best for a few others to take over.”

“No,” Draco gritted out, “I will fulfill my duties. I want my baby in her belly as soon as possible. And the bonding magic is more insistent than exhaustion.” His face was gray and his breathing ragged, but he pulled himself to stand. 

There were a few beats of silence before Voldemort replied. “Very well. Healer Zabini! Your classmate here has put on a good show tonight. Perhaps he has more promise than I imagined. Do heal him up so that he can properly force his beautiful bride.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” Draco said, forcing reverence into his tone, and managing a small bow of deference.

“You will be expected for training tomorrow, Malfoy. You will begin working with your aunt on some of the more complex spells you’ve been avoiding.”

He nodded, though his complexion blanched even further at those words. With Hermione trailing demurely behind him, Draco left the ballroom with all the aristocratic grace he could manage, Zabini hustling after him. 

*********************************************

Hours passed before Narcissa was allowed to leave the hall. She practically ran when she was finally released. Part of her wanted to scream at her husband as Lucius chose to laugh and carry on with his fellows instead of checking on their son. She couldn’t tell anymore if he just trusted her to take care of it or if he was truly so uninterested in their boy that he couldn’t be bothered. 

She burst in the room to find Draco propped against the headboard of his bed. He was paler than usual, with bandages around his stomach and a sling holding his left arm in place, presumably to keep his wrapped shoulder stabilized. Narcissa barely spared a glance for the other occupants of the room. 

“Draco, my sweet son! How are you feeling, darling?” she cried.

“I’m fine, mother. Don’t fret. You know Blaise takes good care of me. He fixed me up.”

“Of course he did,” she replied, looking fondly at the other boy. She then scowled a bit when her eyes took in the mudblood girl, wearing a robe over her tiny dress, with a book in her hand. She started to say something when her son’s old nursemaid elf spoke, “Mistress Cissy, I has our boys in hand. Yous trust old Mimsy to take care.”

“I do, of course, Mimsy,” she said with irritation, “But I needed to see him well before I might sleep tonight.” Looking him over sharply, she continued, “Blaise, why are there bandages? Why isn’t he fully healed?”

Blaise looked uncomfortable, but responded quickly, his low voice rolling out with the calming measured tone he always used when healing, “Draco’s magic is far overextended, Narcissa. While the healing spells come from me, a person’s magic responds to bring about the body’s healing. He is so depleted at the moment that he doesn’t have enough magic to meet mine. He’s healed enough that he won’t bleed out, and we’ll try again in the morning when his core will have had time to replenish somewhat.”

“Try? Replenish somewhat?” she parroted shrilly. “Will he be ready to fight tomorrow night? Will he have his magic at his disposal when he must face three others? Or more? The Dark Lord was quite impressed tonight. He may keep challenging him further.” The graceful woman began to pace and wring her hands. “Well!?”

Blaise shuffled. “I don’t know, Ma’am,” he admitted, “I will do everything I can to bring him back to full health, but they nearly took him down tonight.” She could tell that Blaise was nervous and upset. Mimsy patted his hand consolingly.

“Mistress Cissy, he does what he can. No more fights for the Young Master!”

“We can’t stop them!” Narcissa cried, as tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Mother, please calm down,” Draco begged. He was exhausted and his mother’s panic wasn’t helping. 

“No! I won’t calm down. This is ridiculous. He will keep on until they kill you. You must leave, my son. Take your nasty wife and run.”

He stared at her. “Will you come, too?” He carefully showed no emotion as he asked. They had this conversation regularly, but it had never been under such dire circumstances before.

“I cannot leave your father,” Narcissa said with bitter finality.

“Then I can’t leave either.” His expression was sad this time, a new development in the argument when he usually became angry instead. Narcissa looked at him more closely and saw a terrifying acceptance in her son’s eyes.

“No. NO!” she cried. “You are not giving up like that, Draco. Aren’t you supposed to protect that wife of yours? Get her with child? Staying here isn’t protecting her. It’s delaying the inevitable.”

“I won’t leave without you, Mother.” he stated, even though the thought of Granger eventually being helpless to Lord Voldemort and his horde was physically painful. It was more painful than the accepted fact that he would be dead when that happened. But he would take his mother with him or damn them all. 

“Please, Drake,” Blaise suddenly begged, “You can’t just kill yourself staying here when there is a way to leave.” He paused. “I assume there is a plan to leave, Narcissa?”

“A number of them, but the easiest is for him to simply go to our French cottage and disappear from there.”

“As I’ve said before, Mother, the Dark Mark will pull me back. Godfather isn’t with us anymore to make the potion that suppresses it.” 

Narcissa looked defeated for a moment. Losing Severus had been a deep blow for her. If she hadn’t wanted the Dark Lord gone before, knowing he murdered her oldest friend and one of the only people she truly trusted would have sealed her mutiny. “We have a little left, from the time he let you test it. Perhaps that would be enough to get you through the beginning. I could create a distraction here to get his mind on something else.”

“Again,” Draco said through his teeth, “I will not leave here without you, Mother.”

“Then let the Death Eaters have her, son. The Mudblood isn’t worth it!”

Draco stood angrily, towering over his mother, “Do not ever speak of my wife that way again, Mother. I will not share her, especially not with those foul…”

“Draco!” his mother squealed, “Mind where we are!”

He rolled his eyes as he dropped wearily back onto the bed. “We’ve been discussing running away. What difference does it make if I speak truthfully of the idiots father has forced us to associate with? Nevermind. The important part to understand is that I will take care of my wife.”

Narcissa stubbornly began, “Draco, you must…”

Mimsy had been going about the room tidying as she listened, but now turned around, “Mimsy fix this. Mimsy can takes Young Mistress to the cottage. No Young Miss, no fighting.”

Everyone stared for a moment. Narcissa opened her mouth to argue, but shut it quickly. The logic was sound. Slowly, she said, “There would be torture. Draco, it would be better if you went, too.” He glared and opened his mouth before she waved him off, “Yes, I know. You’re not leaving here.” 

“Family is everything,” he said.

“Granger’s your family now, too,” Blaise interrupted. 

Draco looked paler when he said, “Family who will be safer and better off with her own people. Mimsy, could you take her now?”

“Of course, Young Master,” Mimsy answered hesitantly, looking over at the girl in question.

Hermione had been watching and listening quietly to this point. “No.” 

Draco looked at her, frustration marring his brow. “You will do as I say. You don’t love me as I do my mother. There’s no reason for you to stay here.”

“Your dungeon is full of reasons I should stay,” she argued, “But more than that, I can’t go until you’re healed.”

“What?” Blaise said before Draco could process what she had said.

“The bond,” Hermion began explaining, “I don’t think I can leave him right now.”

“Ridiculous,” Draco said flatly, “Besides barely being able to keep our hands off each other, it’s not affecting us.”

Hermione gave him a look that clearly meant he was being obtuse. Narcissa wondered how deep the bond truly was. Hermione, though, was gearing into lecture mode, “Mimsy found me this book I’ve been reading, Marriage Bonding Rituals, Rites, and Wrongs. It doesn’t specifically address goblin rites, but I think the concepts are likely the same. The magical thread between us is just as they described. The way our magic worked together earlier, too. I think he may need me here to heal properly.”

“Your magic worked together?” Narcissa queried. 

Draco shook his head, his eyes wide. “It didn’t. I don’t know what she’s talking about.”

Hermione looked confused and irritated, but set it aside, “I’m not leaving here tonight.”

“In the morning, then,” Draco demanded. She looked as though she would argue, so he rushed on, “I won’t survive another night protecting you, connected or not. You must leave in the morning.”

“And it must look like she escaped. Some way that you could do nothing about,” Narcissa added.

“He’ll still be punished,” Blaise’s smooth low voice sounded troubled.

“Hopefully less than the next few days would bring with her here.” Everyone could hear the fear in Narcissa’s voice, but she couldn’t hide it. 

Mimsy stepped forward and took her hand, “Mistress Cissy, yous must go to bed or Master Lucius be mad. Mimsy not be failing you now.”

Narcissa looked fondly at the little elf and nodded, “Goodnight sweet son. Rest and recover. Thank you, Blaise.” She didn’t bother to address the Granger girl on her way out.


	7. Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still don't own these characters. They still belong to Rowling. 
> 
> On a positive, my beta @highlyintelligentblonde is awesome and much appreciated.

Monday, May 4, 1998; night

“Do you truly feel nothing between us?” Hermione asked. She had been dumbfounded by that assertion, but had left it alone at the time, thinking perhaps he didn’t want anyone else to know about it. Now that his mother, Blaise, and even Mimsy had left the two of them in the room alone, she wasn’t letting it go.

Draco looked uncomfortable, his skin tinting pink. “Obviously I want to shag your gigantic brains out, but other than that…”

“You have to know that I was helping you out there tonight,” she stated firmly, fists on her hips as she got up from the chair she had been reading in and approached the bed. She would not get distracted by how wet her knickers were. She would not.

He wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I know some of it was wandless magic you were throwing around, though I don’t understand how you’ve developed such strength at it,” he admitted. He barely whispered, “That bit at the end is what I don’t understand. The magical surge. The way I felt the thread sparkle when I can’t even see it.”

Hermione was quiet, too, as she sat down next to him on the bed. Her body was throbbing from his nearness. “I don’t know what happened either, exactly. I was praying you would have the strength and wishing I could give you some of mine. I was thinking it so hard that I sort of pushed on my magic, toward you. And then you were back up again and fighting. I felt...drained, but elated. It was the oddest feeling.”

He stared at her for a long moment before saying, in a husky tone, “And what are you feeling now?” Clearly, her proximity was having an effect on him as well.

Hermione was nervous. She knew she needed to do this. She even wanted to. A part of her brain was screaming that she shouldn’t want to, but it didn’t really change how she felt.

She slowly began to untie the robe she was wearing and let it drop as he looked at her, his eyes wide, pupils blown. There had been other things to talk about she was sure, but one central thing she had read was echoing in her mind and through her body. She ripped the tiny dress off her body and tossed it aside. “I’m feeling...the book said, in several circumstances, that after magical sharing, the partners need to spend time alone, touching,” her hand reached out for him as though it had a mind of it’s own, “and t..tasting and pleasuring one another to restore our magical cores more quickly.” 

Draco couldn’t respond at all, just watched as her hand slid up his leg, over his thigh and along the waistband of his trousers. The bulge in them was obvious, but her hand didn’t touch there. Instead, she pushed him gently down onto the bed as her hands explored his bandaged abdomen lightly and then slid up bare skin to his chest. She ran her fingers over his nipples and was surprised when it made him moan and squirm.

“So here’s the touching,” she said, swinging her leg over him for good measure and seating herself directly on top of his hardened cock. He was breathing hard at the sudden intense contact. She was so wet that the scrap of cloth she was wearing was soaked. He felt heat and actual wetness when she ground against him. “Now, what should the tasting be?” 

She leaned down to kiss him and their lips meeting felt like a fire roaring to life between them. Her tongue licked delicately over his lips, coaxing him to open up to her. As he gave way, she massaged his tongue with her own, pulling desperate gasps and mewls from each of them in turn. His mouth was at her disposal, whatever she wanted to do to it, to him. He gave back as much as she allowed him. He didn’t offer any question on who controlled the kiss, but his erratic breathing and the way he pushed his body up into her told her he wanted more. She pulled away and he whined helplessly.

“It was quite specific about tasting,” she breathed. Her voice was nervous, but gained strength as she went on, “We need to know the very...essence of one another.” She stared into his mercurial eyes, bright silver with desire. “You will taste me first,” she commanded, and her body began moving. 

Her hands grabbed hold of his, placing his fingers under the band of her knickers. “You may move your hands only as much as I tell you.” He bit his swollen lower lip and nodded. Hermione surprised herself with the depth of her desire to suck that swollen lip back between her own lips, to put her teeth there again and nibble until he was whimpering and begging. 

At this moment, she had other plans. She began moving her body forward. His hands, held still as she had ordered, hooked and pulled her knickers down as her body moved up his. When she reached a point it would no longer be sexy to slide that way, she quietly directed him to pull the knickers the rest of the way off. He obeyed without question. 

His eyes were glued to her lower abdomen and lower as she brought her slick and fully exposed center closer and closer to him, hovering over him. Barely breathing, his wide eyes snapped up to hers. She was staring down at him, lust filling her amber eyes. Draco swallowed hard and rasped, “Wh...what am I supposed to do? I’ve never…”

“The point is to taste,” she reminded him in a tone that brooked no argument. She gingerly settled a thigh on either side of his head, careful to avoid his injured shoulder, and waited for him to figure it out. The wait was brief. His tongue snuck up along her folds, tentative at first, then stronger. He groaned, “You taste...so...good,” between laps of his tongue. She started to move off of him, anxious for her taste of him, and trying out the “pleasure” part she had read about.

His hands moved up to cup her arse, holding her in place. Hermione opened her mouth to chastise him for using his hands. The extra pressure of him pulling her closer made her cry out instead. Her body wanted to rock on his face, but she didn’t dare, worried he wasn’t going to be able to breathe like this. His hands suddenly pulled her up and away from him just an inch or so. She started to get angry, but then felt his lips kissing along her inner thighs, first one, then the other, making his way back toward her center. 

When he got there, his tongue delved inside her, making her squeal and gasp from the new sensation. His deep chuckle sent vibrations against her, his nose prodding the nub at the apex of her slit. Hermione let out a long moan when he nudged the spot again and moved his tongue there, his mouth working around it as though he were snogging her mouth. Her moan turned into a mumble of words getting progressively louder.

“Yes, yes! Merlin, just like that!” Hermione could feel the intense heat engulfing her, waves of fire lapping between the two of them with each stroke of his tongue. Her whole body began to quiver as the fire spread through her until every part of her was heated. In her center, the fire was coiling tighter and tighter. His tongue licked up her slit again and danced across her nub. Pleasure erupted inside Hermione. She screamed his name and swore she saw stars exploding around her. She couldn’t breathe; it was so overwhelming. She felt the sparkling thread between them and stroked it with the fulfillment she felt. He quaked under her and moaned.

“What was that?” his voice was tinged with awe.

“The orgasm,” she asked, rolling off of him and squirming down so their faces were back together, “or when I do this?” She felt her magic practically singing and moved that feeling up and down their thread. Draco gasped as goosebumps broke out across his skin. Hermione giggled into his shoulder and did it again. He moaned and curled his body into hers. 

She remembered as he rubbed against her like a cat that he was still straining against his trousers. When she looked into his eyes, they were dark with his arousal, glazed over with lust and what looked almost like desperation. One more time, she flicked her purr of pure contentment up and down the magical thread between them. He bucked against her, the look of desperation more intense. 

“Please,” he moaned, “Please may I be inside you? I need…”

Hermione felt a flood of her juices at the tone of his voice. He was begging her. This wasn’t the arrogant Slytherin Prince she had always known. This man was hers, absolutely hers - to command or to care for - whichever brought her happiness. It was a heady feeling. Her voice was strained as she told him no. 

“Of course not, Draco,” she nuzzled into his neck as he whimpered, “Have you already forgotten I need to taste you?”

“Taste?” he whispered like he had never heard the word.

She began kissing him as her fingers fumbled with unbuttoning his trousers. He started to rip them open himself and she yanked her lips away from him. “You know better,’ she said, taking his right wrist in her hand and moving it down to his side. His left hand she gently put back in place where the sling - now twisted and pushed aside - would naturally hold it. “Keep them there,” she demanded, moving her own hands to roam down his torso, careful over his bandages, but without avoiding them completely. 

Finishing the unbuttoning process, she began to push the trousers down his legs, her whole body sliding along him in the process until her lips were flush with his dick. She was nervous, not knowing quite what to do, but her body was filled with excitement. What he did to her had felt so good, she was determined to make him respond as well. As she had that morning, Hermione licked from bottom to top first, swirling her tongue around the head when she arrived. His gasp made her wetter, and she hummed against him. She was fascinated by the silken texture, the contrasting steel within.

Licking along the slit on top, she enjoyed the salty taste of the fluid there. Much like he had to her, she began to move her mouth around the top as though she were kissing. His body was trembling in response as he moaned. Hermione feared what she was doing was too sloppy as some of her saliva slid down his shaft. Without thinking, she moved her mouth further down to catch it, her tongue licking as she went. Draco’s guttural moan sent pulses of need deep in her center. She was delighted to find that pulling her mouth slowly back up to the tip made him cry out. 

She moved down and then up again without pausing, savoring his taste and the way he was moving to push deeper. With a wicked grin, she pulled off and said, “No moving or it all stops.” He only whimpered in response, his hands in white-knuckled fists, she noticed, eyes screwed shut. She gave him no chance to prepare for the assault of her mouth sliding as far down his shaft as she could manage. He tried to hold his body rigid, but couldn’t quite stop himself from moving. She sucked in, yanking all the way up with the suction of her mouth. He came up off the bed with her, his cock pulsing in her mouth. 

“Please, please, please,” he whimpered. “I can’t hold back if you do that again,” he gasped, his breath coming in shallow pants. His eyes were wide and staring straight into hers with desperation and desire.

“Hmmm,” she hummed against the tip and watched him shudder, “I think that might have counted as tasting you then. What do you think?”

“Yes,” Draco managed, panting, “Merlin, yes.”

Hermione laughed. “And now it’s time to move on to pleasure.”

“Sweet Salazar,” Draco murmured, “Is this not pleasure?”

“Well, not the kind of pleasure the book suggested we need.”

“I want to move to the pleasure then,” he gasped as she wrapped a hand around his cock and began pumping at it as she moved her lower body forward again, bringing herself to hover over him, right up against his dick, sopping wet and throbbing for him. She tried to roll the two of them so that he would be on top.

“No,” he moaned, “You...you should come down on top of me. Granger. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’ll be ok. Truly,” she told him, embarrassed that he thought she couldn’t handle it, even though a small part of her brain was screaming that this was too much like the day before.

“I...I’m sorry Granger,” he said, sitting up and pushing her back somewhat, “I can’t keep from wanting you. This feels amazing and I need it, need you, but. You can’t really want me...and I’m afraid you expect me to know how to do this.”

“I was a virgin until yesterday, Malfoy. I promise you know more than I do.”

He took a deep breath. “No, actually I don’t. I was a virgin, too.”

Her eyes rounded. “Are you serious?”

He swallowed hard, “Yes. It’s not something I’m proud of. I would hardly lie about it.” He laughed at the sudden light in her eyes. Here came the swotty bookworm.

“But that’s incredibly rare, Draco! For both people to enter a bond as virgins is almost unheard of - lots of people claim to be, of course, but it’s rarely true. It’s supposed to be an intensely powerful bond when they do! There’s so much to research about what that means!”

Draco was laughing. “Can we save the research for another day? For when you get back to your friends?” he added with a sobered tone. For a moment it had seemed like she enjoyed being with him. Instead of just needing his body. If only he didn’t need hers just as badly. 

Knowing it might be insensitive, he suddenly grabbed her, pulling her up close against him. “Tonight is about pleasure,” he whispered as he returned to snogging her. 

She rubbed her aching center against him again, ready for more, both of them whimpering at the contact. Hermione felt a desperate need to have him inside her, immediately. He certainly wasn’t going to complain any longer. She eased her body over him, as he had requested. She was so wet, he barely had time to line himself up before he was inside her, buried to the hilt. Hermione cried out, somewhere between a sound of pleasure and pain.

Draco was gasping against her neck and shoulder as he kissed her there, his nose buried in the sweet cinnamon and honey scent of her hair. He held still for a moment, letting her adjust to being filled. He was breathing hard, straining not to move, until her hips slowly began moving above him. Draco’s long platinum eyelashes fluttered as he was nearly overcome already. The intense desire was making it difficult not to come apart the moment they were connected.

Hermione didn’t seem able to fight it once they were moving. She threw her head back and screamed out his name, “Draco! Yes! More!” as she fell apart around him. He was unable to hold back once he heard his name on her lips. For a moment, there was a blinding flash of golden light shimmering between them as he pumped erratically into her until he was spent. She collapsed on top of him, breathing heavily into his neck.

Neither of them said a word for long minutes. She finally rolled off of him, coming to rest her head on his shoulder with his arm clinging lightly around her waist. Hermione couldn’t entirely believe what they had just done. Or how amazing she felt now. Even more, she couldn’t believe her body was already screaming for it again. She was vaguely aware that this had been shorter than novels she had read including the subject, but it didn’t seem to matter. She had certainly enjoyed what they did and they would learn more as time went, she assured herself. 

Then she remembered there wouldn’t be more time. She shrugged internally. She would learn with someone. And so would he. There was a hollow feeling inside her at that thought, and the desire for more intensified.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t last longer,” he said, still sounding blown away, “But that...that was amazing. Did you feel that...see the shimmering?”

She nodded against him. “It was the bond. How does your magic feel?”

He paused a moment. “Full,” he whispered in awe, “Thrumming with life. Almost overwhelming.”

“Mine, too.”

*******************************************  
Tuesday, May 5, 1998; morning

Draco was shaken awake, a wizened little finger on his mouth to indicate quiet. He tried to shake the sleep from his eyes as he brought his nose away from the intoxicating curls it had been buried in. Mimsy was standing beside the bed. She was behind him since his body was curled delightfully around the little witch nestled against his body. Their legs were even intertwined. It took him a couple of minutes to work his way out, Mimsy waiting for him silently. 

“Young Master,” she whispered, “I needs take Young Mistress away.”

Draco’s whole body seemed to hurt all of a sudden, but he knew this was the only way to protect her, the only path toward his possible survival as well. He thought for a moment. “Mimsy, I know I don’t give you commands very often, but I have some today.” He took a deep, almost shuddering breath. He felt a deep pang at what he was about to do. “She can’t know what happened here. I don’t want her to remember that awful first night. When you reach the cottage, you will obliviate her.”

Mimsy gasped and her hands flew to her mouth, “Master, no! Mimsy can’ts be attacking a witch! A Mistress witch!”

“You must,” he ground out, “I, as your master, command it.”

The little elf looked distraught, with tears running openly down her face, but nodded.

“The last thing she will remember will be the battle, just like all the other prisoners. You will tell her that Blaise Zabini just left after obliviating her and that you must run together. She won’t remember Blaise as a healer, but I want someone on her side to think he might not be evil.

“Together, Young Master?”

Draco swallowed the lump in his throat. There had never been a point in his life without Mimsy there to take care of him. “I am your Master right now, Mimsy. And so you will follow these commands I give you even when I am not around.” He took a deep breath, hoping it would really work that way, “She is never to know my name. If she asks or tries to find out in any way, you will refer to me only as Master. You will not call her by the name of Lady Malfoy or mention anything about the family name. Call her Mistress Hermione, Mistress Granger, or whatever name she wishes. You will not let her know she is married. With the obliviation, she won’t know. She doesn’t have to feel tied to me. You will not accept freedom from her, though you can take wages if it suits you,” he chuckled, knowing Hermione would try to insist and that the disgusted look on Mimsy’s face meant she would not be accepting. “You will see her safely to her friends with the Order of the Phoenix, no matter what she says. My wife is your sole Mistress. She is your family now.”

Mimsy nodded, the tears flowing down her cheeks. Draco was surprised when she suddenly threw herself at him in a tight hug. “I’s be taking good care of Young Mistress. And I’s follow all Master’s rules.”

She let him go and Draco watched her with regret. “I have two more things you must do for me, Mimsy,” he reached to the nightstand where his wand, rather his mother’s wand, rested. She had let him use it since Potter absconded with his. “Give this to her as soon as you are at the cottage. Have her dress in some of mother’s clothes there, but don’t dally. Take this, too,” he said, handing her the beaded bag he knew Granger never went anywhere without. “Now.” This was the hard part. He picked up a paperweight from his desk. “You must hit me with this. In the head, as hard as you can, Mims. Hard enough to knock me out.”

Her already huge eyes seemed larger suddenly. “I can’t do that Master.”

“It’s a command. As soon as I’m unconscious - and yes, it has to be from a blow to the head, not your magic - apparate her to the cottage.”

He closed his eyes to wait for the blow. Each breath was painful with the knowledge Hermione would soon be gone. He had one hand on the bare skin of her back and the other sunk into her curls when he felt a sharp pain and knew nothing else.

*******************************************

Hermione groaned and opened her eyes, her stomach heaving. As soon as she was able, she leapt from the floor and into a crouching position, feeling desperately for her wand. She was sure she was at Hogwarts, leaping in front of Bellatrix.

Except she wasn’t. She had come awake laying on the floor. Now she was standing, completely nude, with no wand, in a luxurious greeting room to a house she had most certainly never seen before. A distressed house elf stood before her. The poor thing was quivering, making Hermione drop somewhat out of her fighting stance, though still wary. 

“Mimsy not meaning to upset Young Mistress,” the house elf sniffled and blew her nose into a plain white hanky that she tucked back into her old, patched, but very clean and tidy, pillowcase.

“I’m not...upset with you, I don’t believe,” Hermione started. She wasn’t sure what else to say. “Where are we?”

“France, Mistress, but Mimsy musts be getting you out.” The elf began walking out of the room and up a grand staircase.

“What?” Hermione asked as she followed rapidly behind. It was baffling how such a tiny creature could move so fast. “Elf,” she called as she had just lost her somewhere ahead down a long hallway, “Whose home are we in? Could I...maybe...borrow some clothes?”

Mimsy popped next to her holding up a set of lovely blue robes, some underthings far fancier than Hermione had ever owned, and a pair of beautiful dragonhide boots. “Gets them on now, Miss! We must go!” the little elf, Mimsy apparently, cried impatiently.

Hermione was so confused, but certainly felt better as she slipped on the clothes. They were too big for her, especially in length, but with a snap of Mimsy’s fingers, they fit perfectly. Digging in a pillowcase Hermione just realized the elf was carrying, she pulled out two things that made Hermione’s heart stop. One was a beautiful wand she had never seen before, covered in vining ivy carvings. The other was her very own beaded bag, the one that contained basically everything needed for going on the run. Mimsy thrust them at her. “Comes with Mimsy, Mistress!” 

She rushed them back down the stairs and out a door that must be at the back of the house. They let out into the most exquisite gardens she had ever seen. Hermione stared around in wonder as she saw unicorns grazing on fairy-covered flowers, a beautiful brook babbling through the garden, literally singing as it babbled by. There were charming bridges made of a shining stone here and there over it. Some kind of delightful little creature with wings - it looked a bit like a squirrel or chipmunk otherwise - was flitting around them chattering. Mimsy took her hand and towed her along past it all. They crossed one of the bridges and came to a wall of green hedges that seemed to blush pink everytime the breeze hit them. Mimsy snapped and a door appeared in front of them. She started forward, then emitted a frightened squeak as a ward flash went off. The elf turned to her with wide eyes. “Please, Mistress, take Mimsy’s hand.”

She took the offered hand and stepped forward nervously, “Mimsy - perhaps I should try to take down the ward first.” 

“No, Mistress. It be fine for you. Mimsy not belong here now.” 

“Should I go first, then?” Hermione asked, confused but focused on getting out. 

“Yes, Mistress.”

As Hermione moved toward the gate, she absentmindedly said, “Please don’t call me Mistress, Mimsy. My name is Hermione and that will do.” The little elf made a sound that was suspiciously like a snort.

A strange light suddenly appeared around Hermione, turning a shade of green before morphing to blue and allowing her through with only a tight squeezing feeling. Mimsy made it through in similar fashion. “What was that?” Hermione wondered aloud.

“Yous not keyed to the property wards, Mistress Hermione. Buts they knows you by blood.” Mimsy explained cryptically.

Hermione looked around. They were on quite a normal-looking street of villas, assuming you recognized French architecture. They were far larger than Hermione had seen, as this was clearly an affluent neighborhood, far from touristy areas. Tourists. “Are we in Paris, Mimsy?”

“Yes, Mistress Hermione.”

“In the wizarding part of town?”

“No, Mistress. We be…”

“Mimsy! You can’t be out in Muggle Paris where any old muggle might see you!” Hermione, trying her new wand for the first time, cast a quick glamour on the elf. It didn’t turn out the best. She now looked like a Disney cartoon witch, but at least her giant ears were human-sized and her tiny stature could indeed be put down to age. At the best of times, witch’s magic didn’t work well on house elves. With a new and untried wand, she was lucky she hadn’t glamoured the little creature into a troll or something equally disturbing. Sighing, she transfigured her own clothing into something more muggle. It took a couple of tries, but she was now wearing soft dark pants and a flowy blue blouse. She glamoured herself as well, to have long straight brown hair and a rather overly large nose between eyes almost as green as Harry’s.

Hermione was thinking hard. She needed somewhere to go to sit with Mimsy and find out what was going on. But she had to be careful. In the wizarding world she might find help, but she might just as easily find Voldemort sympathizers. She didn’t wish to endanger muggles, but she wondered if she might be safer hiding among a crowd of them. She was hungry anyway, and Mimsy couldn’t be expected to produce food on the run even if Hermione was willing to ask her, which she certainly wasn’t. “Mimsy, please hold on to me. We’re going to a place I know.”

They disapparated, appearing seconds later at the apparition point nearest Notre Dame Cathedral. Even though she had been ready for it this time, Hermione found herself throwing up at the nauseating experience. She had used entirely too much unusual magic today - first house elf apparition being different, then this new wand affecting her own magic. Mimsy held her hair back and produced a small glass of water from nowhere. Hermione was too grateful to argue. 

She began to lead the way to her favorite cafe in Paris. Au Vieux Paris d’Arcole attracted tourists year round, but it wasn’t overly crowded since they had missed the beautiful spring Wisteria. It was perfect for what she needed. Leaving Mimsy outside, Hermione ordered for them both, then joined her odd traveling companion at a table outside, sitting in one of the cute purple chairs. She inhaled her food before speaking much. She had no idea when she had last eaten, but she was starving. It had been a tense morning and she had already thrown up twice. When she was done, and Mimsy seemed well fed as well, Hermione finally let her questions begin spilling out.

“Mimsy, whose house were we in when I woke this morning?” Mimsy wrung her hands for a moment before saying, “Master’s house, Miss Hermione.”

“Who is your Master?”

“Hims not your concern. Yous my master now, Mistress.”

“What!?” Hermione cried indignantly. She began digging in her beaded bag. “I most certainly do not own a slave! Here!” she said triumphantly, handing Mimsy a knitted hat. The little elf put it on. 

“Mimsy likes pretties. Thank you, Mistress.” 

Hermione looked at her aghast. “You’re a free elf now. You don’t have to call me Mistress. Or anyone Master or Mistress!” 

The elf patted her hand. “Mimsy not being free. I serves my family. Master said Mimsy cans have as much clothes as hers wants, but never has to being free.” Hermione was struggling to hide her frustration and the little elf actually laughed at her. “Mimsy be taking care of hers mind hers self, Mistress Hermione. Master just think him helps.”

Hermione huffed and moved on with her questions. “How did we get in Master’s house with no one else there?”

“Mister Blaise be bringing you. Hims obliviate then pops away.”

“Blaise. Blaise Zabini?” Hermione asked, shocked. She hadn’t heard anything about him being in raids or anything, but it was assumed he was a death eater. Why would he obliviate her and then just leave her in another country to run away? She must have been captured by Bellatrix. What purpose could he have had in obliviating her back to the battle?

“Yes,” Mimsy said, sounding proud. She seemed to like Zabini. But then, if he was a death eater sneaking people out, and her Master was someone helping as well, it made sense that she would like the people working against the Dark Lord.

“Do you know why he...why he brought me without clothes?” Hermione had been terrified by this aspect since she woke up, just burying the fears. She wasn’t visibly hurt, but she did feel sore in a strange way she hadn’t experienced before. Had Zabini raped her? Had he saved her from someone else who had?

“He was not be having much time, Mistress. Mister Blaise not be hurting you.” Mimsy sounded quite certain. 

A dark thought suddenly hit Hermione, making her bite her lower lip. What if Mimsy, and Zabini, had been ordered by this Master to act helpful and let her go, only to follow her straight to the Order? It made far more sense than some unknown death eater suddenly changing sides when it seemed like the Battle had turned in their favor. But had it? Hermione honestly didn’t know if Harry had made his way to an ultimate confrontation with Voldemort or not. She had been so focused on the fight with Bellatrix that she really wasn’t sure. Voldemort could be dead for all she knew. Or Harry...NO. She would not entertain the idea that Harry might be dead. But she needed information. 

She couldn’t go back to the Order until she knew what was happening and had determined if she could trust this elf. She wished Dobby were alive to discuss. He would have known whether or not she could trust Mimsy. He might have even known who her mysterious Master is. 

Wishing did no good. Hermione knew she had to focus on present needs. A hotel room somewhere, so she could cast a few spells and send Mimsy for a copy of some Wizarding newspapers. She didn’t have much Muggle money left, or any money at all really, but she remembered a colorful little hotel nearby that wasn’t too expensive. With a destination in mind and plans for what to do, Hermione gathered her things and she and Mimsy set out for a walk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was my (and sort of their) first sex scene. And the first great escape for that matter. I hope to hear what you think of it!


	8. To the Rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry Potter is still owned by J.K. Rowling.

Tuesday, May 5, 1998; evening

Bill appeared composed as he apparated to the front gate of Malfoy Manor. He made a striking figure, standing there alone in the late dusk. Seemingly alone, at least. He knew he had to be careful as he walked forward to touch the gate. It was crowded out here and the plan hinged on not giving that away until they were all inside the wards. Of course, there was the possibility that Lucius Malfoy would be able to tell how many people were crossing his wards, but all they could do was hope they made it in before he could do anything about it. Bill heard whispering in a couple of places, then a muttered scolding, followed by the Silencio the offenders should have had in place to begin with.

As soon as he touched the gate, he knew someone would be sent out immediately. Sure enough, two Death Eaters appeared in full robes and masks. They wore the generic masks of underlings, not the fancier personalized masks the inner circle wore. Bill waited patiently through their long, long walk to the gates.

“Who are yah and what do yah want?” a surly voice came from one of the underlings.

“I am Bill Weasley. I am here on behalf of the Order of the Phoenix to negotiate the release of certain prisoners.”

They both laughed. “What’s left of the prisoners, maybe!” said a younger voice this time, perhaps female, filled with dark mirth.

Bill did his best not to react to that statement, clearing his throat before stating, “I wish to speak with the Lord of the Manor.”

Surly Voice laughed, “Course yah do. Come on, then.” He waved his hand and the gates opened silently, the wards with them. 

This was the most important part. The longer Bill could stall, the more certain they would all make it inside. “I’m not setting foot inside those gates until the Lord of the Manor comes out to me. I want to meet on ground that is as neutral as possible and I think that by these gates is the best.”

Suddenly, there were pops all over the front lawns as Death Eaters appeared everywhere. A limping figure with the shining white-blond hair of the Lord of the Manor shouted. 

“Why are you imbeciles letting in a bloody army!?” The two underlings turned toward him in confusion when both suddenly fell, stupefyed to the ground. 

Tonks had dropped her disillusionment charm to give Bill a cheeky grin and take off after another Death Eater, before she tripped over herself but recovered in time to hit him with a stinging hex right where it would hurt. “Wotcher, Bill! I’ve got this. You go help those kids get the prisoners out. Keep them safe!”

Bill cast his own disillusionment charm and began weaving through the many duels now happening all around. He could only hope the rest of the plan went as smoothly as this entrance had gone.

OooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooO

Ron was sprinting under Harry’s invisibility cloak. He didn’t know if the rest of his team was keeping up with him or not, that was an unfortunate part of this mess. He occasionally stuck his wand out to shoot a hex at someone as he darted silently past, taking particular joy in the slice he made down Bellatrix’s arm. 

Having been to the Manor not long ago, he knew exactly how to get to the dungeons. The only problem was that when they arrived, the dungeons were empty: the doors standing open. 

“What?” Dean Thomas exclaimed in bewilderment. He, too, had been a guest here recently and knew the way. He cancelled his disillusionment charm as he spoke and was followed by a number of others making their way in. 

Ron took only a moment to allow his disbelief in and then turned to the team, “We know they’re here somewhere. Everyone back to hiding. Dean, Seamus, Parvati, and George, you take the bottom floor - be careful - the snake himself may be here somewhere. Luna, Anthony, Ginny, and Justin - second floor, should be mostly bedrooms and the like. I’ll take the top floor with Cho and Michael.”

“And me,” Bill’s disembodied voice said from the staircase. Ron just nodded at the space.

Invisible once more, they all set out. When Ron reached the third floor, he whispered instructions - Cho and Michael taking the rooms down the left hall while he and Bill took the ones to the right. Most rooms took just a moment to unward, but it was the fourth room that gave them pause. Bill had to work on it while Ron went down the rest of the hall and came back. “Maybe we should just go, Bill. I heard a fight of some sort down Cho and Michael’s way.”

“No. I’ve almost got this. There has to be someone or something worth getting to in this room.” As he said it, the last ward gave and he pushed the door open. Ron and Bill were both overcome when they saw Charlie’s red hair and his blue eyes staring at them. At the door at least. It took Ron a couple of heartbeats before he remembered they were invisible and yanked the cloak off himself to run to his brother. 

Charlie was wearing dragonhide pants, bruises, and a collar that kept him chained to the giant bed in the room. He could stand and walk in a small semi-circle, even use his hands, but he couldn’t get any further away and there wasn’t anything to do within that space except pace like a caged dragon. Ron was sure his brother must be going mad. The decor here was an austere black and white. Charlie looked out of place against the luxury and severity of the room. He wrapped his younger brother in a hug just as Bill joined them. 

“Charlie! Let’s get you out of here!” Bill cried.

“No,” their brother argued, “The Longbottom boy is locked in the closet.” Charlie pointed. “She’s beaten him bloody and crucioed him half dead. She’ll kill him when she gets back, or keep up the crucios til she drives him around the bend.”

With reluctance, Bill left Ron to figure out Charlie’s collar as he worked on the closet’s wards.

“Who is ‘she’?” Ron asked, though there wasn’t much question which female Death Eater would do this.

“Bellatrix,” Charlie confirmed, “He gave us to her as rewards. We’re not the only ones who’ve been given away either. You have to go find Professor McGonogall and Hermione!” 

“There are teams searching each floor,” Ron assured his brother, noticing how relieved he looked, “Why’d she hurt Neville so bad but barely took a go at you?”

Charlie stared at his clueless little brother for a moment. “Not what she wants me for,” he said with a shrug. “Listen, I only know so much. They obliviate us all often. But the other prisoners, the ones he hadn’t given to anyone, they aren’t here. I heard her talking to Nott about it earlier. They were transferring the rest to his manor, sending them there with his son as the acting Lord until Nott can go there next week. I’d get them out before then if you can. I think Fleur is with them.”

Bill suddenly groaned under the dead weight of Neville as he lifted the boy out of the closet. He was a true mess. Ron was surprised he was even alive.

“Charlie, stop talking like you won’t be around to tell us this later.” Bill growled. His brother looked at him with sad eyes. “Ron, take Neville. I’m getting rid of that collar.” 

Bill shot a weightlessness spell at the battered boy as Ron scooped him up and began to head out. He turned at the doorway, “Bill, there are six Death Eaters at the head of the stairs. Cho and Michael don’t look like they’re in good shape.” Choking on a sob, he barely whispered, “We’re out of time.”

Charlie squeezed his brother’s hand. “Go, Bill. She’s just another kind of dragon. Maybe I’ll tame her, too.” He gave his brother a roguish grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Charlie, I’m not leaving you here!”

“You have to,” he said with grim determination, “Bill, get those kids out of here!”

OooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooO

Remus didn’t know what to do with himself. He had come back feeling triumphant. Ron’s plan had worked. Even with the Death Eaters being alerted so quickly - clearly Lucius Malfoy was able to feel each intrusion of his wards - many of them had been seriously injured, while none of the Order had gotten more than a broken arm. The prisoners mostly hadn’t been there, but Ron and Bill had rescued Neville. They had also gathered some significant information. There had been hints that perhaps someone had escaped that morning, a Death Eater wondering aloud why they hadn’t taken everyone then instead of coming back for an attack. They knew where the other prisoners, including Bill’s wife Fleur, had been taken thanks to Charlie. They knew where McGonogall had been taken thanks to a muggleborn wizard, Finian, who had been a captive to Rookwood for almost two years and was now joining the Order. George had even found the formal study and made quick replicas of some of the Death Eater’s plans. 

But his Dora wasn’t back. That wasn’t part of the plan. Not at all. Remus couldn’t control the despair he felt when he thought about going home to their baby boy without her. Merlin, he had told her not to come. They had barely survived the Battle, it had been a miracle neither of them were dead or taken then. But now. Now she was gone. Would they move her to Nott Manor as the other prisoners were? Would she be given to someone? Locked away in the previously empty dungeons at Malfoy Manor? How could this have happened?

“Professor Lupin!” one of the kids called. He didn’t want to answer. Could they not leave him alone for a few moments of grief?

It was Ron. “Professor Lupin! They said to come to you for information, sir. That everyone reported to you. What did we find out about Hermione?”

He stared at the boy. There were tear trails down his face. Remus knew they had found his brother Charlie, too, but hadn’t been able to get him out before the death eaters overwhelmed them. Leaving him behind had broken Ron’s heart, Bill’s too, he had heard, even though the second Weasley brother had apparently put on a good face about it when he told them to go. He coached himself not to yell at Ron. The boy didn’t know about Tonks. He didn’t know that Remus’ heart was broken, too, and that he couldn’t bear to discuss yet another missing person.

“There was no word of her, Ron.The report Bill gave says Charlie mentioned her in a way that implied she was given to someone, but we don’t know who. No one saw any signs of her.”

Ron’s whole face and ears turned red. “That can’t be true! Is she somewhere dangerous? You think we’re not brave enough to get her out? I’m going to find her anyway so you better just tell me where she is!” He was physically getting into Remus’ space.

Now Remus wasn’t the only one angry and reeling. His wolf growled at the foolish boy in front of him. Ron’s eyes grew a little wide at the growl, but then his face changed back to anger and he continued to yell vitriol. Remus barely managed to keep his tone above a growl, “You’re not the only one hurting. You’re not the only one missing someone.”

“I’ve lost Hermione and Harry and Charlie and Mum! Don’t try to pretend all the people you aren’t even close to mean you’ve lost something I haven’t. You better tell me wh…”

Remus shoved him against the wall, nearly losing all control. “Tonks is missing thanks to your little plan.” 

Ron’s face paled immediately as he started stammering an apology, “I had no idea. I’m so sorry, Professor!”

“I’m not your damn professor.” Remus took three very deep breaths while Ron continued to babble. “Look,” he interrupted, “Your plan was good, Ron. It went exactly as we had hoped. Tonks is the only part that didn’t go right.”

“And leaving Charlie. And not finding Hermione,” Ron added glumly. 

“It’s been a long night, kid. I understand, truly, how you’re feeling. Now get out of my sight before I lose my temper again. The wolf is worried about his mate and far too close to the surface tonight.”

OooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooO

Severus Snape was fairly certain he would have been better off letting the snake finish him off. His recovery was excruciating and slow - so excruciatingly slow. There were Weasleys in and out of the hospital wing at all hours, sometimes wailing and carrying on. Potter, of course, had constant visitors. Then there were minor inconveniences like everyone hating him and being sure he was evil. He needed to be up and about so that he could go down to his potions lab and find a way to wake the Chosen One.

Of course he would let everyone believe it was just so that Potter could clear his name. There was no reason to talk about how much Lily’s son meant to him. He also hated him, of course. Half James and exactly like him in looks and attitude. But every now and then he was struck by the boy’s internal goodness and how very much like his mother he was in that regard.

Severus had argued to Kingsley just a little while ago that he needed to be released, full healing be damned, so that he could get on with it. He could tell the man fully agreed. It probably didn’t hurt that no one really cared whether he made a full recovery or not. Except Madam Pomfrey, of course. She treated everyone whether they deserved it or not, regardless of her personal feelings about them. Severus admired that, even aspired to it, but he was still irritated.

As he had that thought, the lady herself came huffing toward him. “I’m told I have to let you out. Even though you can’t walk all the way down to that drafty dungeon of yours alone.”

“There are spells for that,” he snapped.

Pomfrey rolled her eyes at him and said, “Your magic isn’t ready for you to be working any of them and you won’t be getting your wand back anytime soon anyway. Lucky for you, there’s one student here who’s willing to help you.” She pushed forward a very subdued-looking Gregory Goyle. The boy was just as enormous as ever, but he looked sad and a little lost. He said nothing and Madam Pomfrey offered no explanation for him being there. The boy wasn’t branded, but Severus knew he had planned to be a death eater as Malfoy and his father had both told him he would be. 

Before Severus could say a word, the hulking boy leaned down and scooped him out of the bed, carrying him bridal style. Severus immediately began to fight and curse. “Put me down you overgrown imbecile!” The boy walked sedately on. People quickly filled the hallways as they went to see what the commotion was about - and stayed because everyone was badly in need of a laugh these days. Someone even got their hands on Colin Creevy’s old camera and caught a picture or two. Severus was mortified.

He was sitting in what had been his chair behind the familiar old desk in the dungeon before he stopped screaming. Professor Slughorn was there, but had immediately hopped up when they burst through the door and backed up against the wall. Straightening his hospital gown, Severus glared at the boy still standing nearby, looking like he planned to become a statue. “Goyle! Fetch me some real robes this instant.” Goyle nodded and disappeared back out the door, leaving the two potions professors staring at one another.

Slughorn’s eyes were huge as he said, “I don’t know what you think you’re doing down here, but this is very much my potions lab these days, Severus.”

“I am aware,” Severus drawled, biting back the bitterness he felt. He hadn’t enjoyed teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts as much as he had always hoped, and certainly hadn’t wanted the position of Headmaster. He found he rather missed his potions lab. He had become a potions master at such a young age because the Dark Lord commanded him to, but he had come to enjoy it rather quickly. It had taken far longer, but perhaps now he could admit that he even enjoyed teaching it - to the students who weren’t dunderheads, that is, few though they were. Not that it mattered since he would never have the chance to teach it or anything else ever again. But, if he could wake Potter, and if the boy could forgive him, perhaps it was possible. “I am here for potion brewing, Horace. It is assumed I may be Mr. Potter’s best chance to wake up.”

“Oh my!” Slughorn exclaimed, clearly a bit horrified. 

They were interrupted by Goyle’s return with the robes he had requested. After a few very deep breaths, Severus stood. 

“I will be properly attired in a moment and we will begin. You will assist me as your cabinets are no doubt arranged as you like them.” His sneer communicated, as he meant it to, that the new arrangements were undoubtedly inferior.

He was well enough to walk to the ingredients cabinets and change inside. By himself, thank you very much. Goyle moved to follow him and help, but retreated when Severus glared at him hard enough. Slughorn was still staring with his mouth agape when Snape made his way back out, avoiding stumbling by clinging to the wall.

“Close your mouth and prepare three stations for us. One pewter cauldron, two silver. I have a number of ideas to begin with.” Severus didn’t check to see if the professor was obeying, merely hobbled back into the ingredients cabinet and gathered a few items. When he returned and painstakingly walked toward a table, he found Goyle lifting cauldrons into place. Slughorn was sitting at his desk looking angry. 

“Are your ears as inadequate as your penmanship?” Severus said sharply, holding up two bottles of powdered something. “Which of these is powdered asphodel vs powdered ash petals? This one over here isn’t even labeled! How would anyone ever know?”

Slughorn glared, “See here, Death Eater, you’re not welcome in my potions lab and your opinions certainly are not welcome. I always knew nothing good would come of you. I’m going to go have a talk with Madam Pomfrey and the Headmistress. You shouldn’t be down here unattended.” With that, he whipped his sumptuous robes around himself and stormed out, leaving Severus and young Goyle alone in the lab. Severus rolled his eyes at the pompous idiot, then smiled. Figuring out the ingredients might be tedious, but this made the lab much more pleasant. Goyle might not be the brightest, but he could follow simple instructions. It would do.


	9. Despair and Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The characters and world still belong to J.K. Rowling.

Tuesday, May 5, 1998; late afternoon

The hotel was just as Hermione remembered, quaint and clean, but not overpriced. They were even running a special that allowed her two nights with what money she had. Perhaps that would be enough time to safely make contact with the Order and rejoin them. If not, it would give her a day to find a job somewhere that would let her help out day by day. 

As soon as they were settled in, she sent Mimsy to fetch the papers - The Daily Prophet, Le Paris Chouette, and a local muggle paper to get an idea of things. With her gone, it was the perfect opportunity to send out her Patronus. But who could she send it to and be sure she wouldn’t compromise them? Did she even know for sure who was uncaptured? No. There was no one she was certain of. 

Hermione pulled a book quickly from her beaded bag and spent a few minutes reading. She would send to a place rather than a person. Shell Cottage was closest, and Fleur, at least, was bound to be home. Still. She couldn’t say directly where she was in case the cottage had been breached. Within moments, she had a spell and a plan.

“Expecto Patronum!” she began, but gasped and went no further when the creature that appeared was a glowing dragon instead of the otter she expected. Hermione’s jaw was hanging open. A patronus didn’t change randomly. As far as she knew, the only way to change them was through a deep and true love. What the hell had happened that she didn’t remember? And now what? Her otter patronus was well known. If this dragon showed up claiming to be from her, they might not believe it. She barely believed it. 

Hermione sighed. There was no changing it back. Whatever had happened to her must have been significant. It was disturbing to realize she didn’t know what that was, but nothing she could do anything about right now. As the dragon swooped around the room, she tried to refocus and work out her message, “Bill, Fleur, or any friends from the Order, this is Hermione. I have escaped, but fear I am being followed. I need someone to meet me at Au Vieux Paris d’Arcole at 7pm to determine safety.” She brandished her wand again and watched her dragon swallow the message as she chanted, “Nuntia Rem Loco Shell Cottage.” The dragon flapped its wings and flew off.

She had two hours before she would need to be back at the cafe. She didn’t have money for more food there, so she intended to stand across the street until she saw someone arrive. And keep her glamour up. She hoped she was being overcautious, but she just couldn’t be sure.

Suddenly, Mimsy popped back in, her arms full of papers and a couple of grocery bags. “Mimsy gets dinner and yours papers, Mistress Hermione.”

Hermione was taken aback. She had been prepared to go hungry tonight. The food at the cafe was more than she had been accustomed to in a day while they were on the run. “Thank you, Mimsy, but you didn’t need to do that. How...how did you pay for food?” The question was somewhat idle as she began flicking through the local paper since it was on top. She should have started with the Prophet but she was almost afraid of what she might find there. 

“Mimsy use Master’s account to buy…”

“Mimsy, no! We can’t use some Death Eater’s personal account to buy food. He is a Death Eater, isn’t he? He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named will be able to figure out where we are!”

The little elf looked mortified. She grabbed for a lamp to hit herself with. It was only Hermione’s experience with Dobby that allowed her to catch the lamp before she could. “You may not punish yourself, Mimsy! That’s an order,” Hermione said. Her breathing was panicked, but she knew she had to calm down. And help Mimsy calm down. “It’s ok. It’s ok. They won’t even know exactly where we are, just somewhere in Paris. They already knew that probably, right?” 

For some reason, Hermione had felt a pull toward England that she didn’t think had anything to do with homesickness. It felt almost like a gossamer thread of magic tying her to something. Whatever that something might be, there was a wistful longing attached to it as well. It was barely a feeling, but now and then she would notice it, and somehow she felt like it could be followed to her if whatever was on the other end was used properly. The thought made her shudder, but she tried to refute it with logic. She knew of no magical items that would do such a thing. Anyone who found her would likely have just caught the mysterious ‘Master’ and discovered he had sent them to his Paris property. “Let’s just eat while I catch up on the news.”

Mimsy had brought a veritable feast. Hermione had every intention of stretching it out for several days under a stasis charm. They began enjoying tonight’s portion as she perused the papers. The local paper indicated there had been a rise in crime, a number of unexplainable deaths and kidnappings in the area. The muggles were baffled, but for a witch the answer was obvious. Voldemort had followers or at least sympathizers in the area. She would have to be even more careful. The French magical news was focused on the aftermath of the battle. That many Undesirables had allegedly been captured, but Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, among many others, were still at large. She gave a sigh of relief. That feeling was less certain when she came to The Daily Prophet. The front page headline read “Undesirable #1 On Death Bed?” with a picture of Harry looking pained. Of course Hermione knew that picture was from fourth year during the Triwizard Tournament, but it had been manipulated enough to make her gasp at first sight. 

Hurt or not, Harry was alive. Ron, too, it seemed. She couldn’t wait to see Bill or Fleur for confirmation. At 6:45, she assured Mimsy she would be safe and headed to the cafe, standing across the street, and watching diligently for someone she knew. 

A couple of hours later, she returned to the hotel room feeling defeated. Perhaps they had been called away from home for some reason. No Death Eaters showed up, so at least Shell Cottage hadn’t been overtaken. She would try again tomorrow, after she had some sort of job for the day. Meanwhile, she let Mimsy fix her tea and fuss over her. She couldn’t really stop her, and it honestly felt good to feel like someone cared. House elves were people, too, even if the little elf only cared because she was brainwashed to treat her that way.

She was just crawling into bed, shortly after 9:30, when the pain began. It wasn’t acute; it wasn’t even hers, she was quite certain. But she felt a deep sense that something was very wrong and someone she cared deeply for was hurting. There were phantom pains throughout her entire body. She was panicking, but this time it was Mimsy who calmed her down. She went to her little pillowcase bag and pulled out some sort of cream. She rubbed it gently on Hermione’s chest over her heart, her stomach, and down her left arm. Mimsy didn’t explain a thing, just said it would help. Hermione couldn’t argue with the results. She still had that uneasy feeling that something was desperately wrong somewhere, but she no longer felt pain. Exhausted, she slid under the covers and into a restless sleep.

*******************************

Tuesday, May 5, 1998; evening

Draco was screaming along with his compatriots. Lord Voldemort was furious that they had allowed the Order of the Phoenix access to their very headquarters. Worse, a prisoner had escaped. The second one of the day. He had attacked his followers as a whole first - Draco had no idea it was possible to crucio so many people at once. Now the Dark Lord was concentrating on the two who had lost those most valuable prisoners - Draco himself, and his Aunt Bellatrix. He couldn’t believe someone had actually escaped her. That it was Longbottom was even more astounding.

Draco didn’t have time to think about it. His brain was rattling every time a new spell hit him. The Dark Lord had moved on from crucios to slicing hexes, crisscrossing his body in bleeding slivers. Each cut was small, but all of them together were making him light-headed from blood loss. Some moments he heard himself or Aunt Bella begging for mercy. He knew his Lord was often speaking at him, and was probably angry he wasn’t responding. He hadn’t heard any of the words Voldemort was saying for some time now, but he did notice that other Death Eaters were closing in around him. Without his wife, he was essentially worthless. Perhaps they were going to kill him now after all. 

He soon wished they would. He certainly didn’t want to think about what they were doing to his body now. Only one prisoner had been gained tonight. Fenrir Greyback caught an Auror named Tonks. There was something else important about her, but Draco couldn’t focus enough to recall. She wasn’t Hermione Granger or Neville Longbottom, but she was high enough in rank to gain Greyback something he wanted. Watching Draco be knocked down a few pegs was also apparently something Greyback wanted. He and some of his lackeys began beating him, kicking him, perhaps slapping him with a belt. He felt someone spit on him.

His brain felt detached from his body. Too much fear. Too much pain. He wanted to pass out, thought he had once or twice. They had to be ennervating him repeatedly. It was quite late when he thought he was finally going to be allowed the sweet oblivion of unconsciousness. He heard Lord Voldemort’s voice above him, but couldn’t make sense of the words. He wanted an answer? Draco didn’t have any answers. That was fine apparently. The snake would show him what he should have answered. The snake. The snake.

Impossibly, Draco forced his eyes open. The snake Nagini was making her way toward him, her body slithering excitedly. Merlin, she was going to eat him alive. He couldn’t even track how much pain he was already in, but the terror of watching her glide toward him was enough to make him scream and beg. The last thing he remembered before blackness enveloped him was the snake’s fangs lunging toward him.

******************************************

Wednesday, May 6, 1998; afternoon

Severus was frustrated. The first three potions he had tried hadn't worked. He had consulted with Madam Pomfrey when she came down to check on him and help Slughorn pack up. The pompous windbag refused to work with a Death Eater, or even be in the potions lab while he was there, so Headmistress Sprout was moving him to The Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade until he could stop being such a baby or until Severus was done. That’s how he thought of it, at least. 

Putting aside the gleeful thought that he had run off that buffoon, Severus put his mind back on task. Perhaps he could reverse the Draught of Living Death and bring Potter back with that. No one had ever taken even a weakened Avada without it outright killing them, except Potter, of course. He had no idea why the boy wasn’t dead this time, so it was hard to know what might work. Dumbledore would undoubtedly babble something ridiculous about love. Severus rolled his eyes.  
Since making his way into the potions lab, he had been able to dose himself with Pepper Up Potion and Pain Potions until he was walking around just fine and more than capable of taking care of himself. Still, he had let Goyle stay and sent the boy on a number of errands. He debated now if he should send him to get food. His stomach was rumbling and none of the brewing potions needed anything. 

He looked carefully at the overgrown boy staring into space over by the wall. He had not spoken a single word. Madam Pomfrey had confided that she thought something very traumatic happened to him during that last battle. Goyle had never been bright, but he was unable or unwilling to communicate at all now. In some ways, it made him ideal for fetching things - a handy thing for Severus to have around even if he was doing much better. 

But. The boy wouldn’t be able to explain to the house elves what he wanted, so instead, Severus beckoned.

“This batch will be brewing for some time.” He started to walk out the door, then turned impatiently, “Are you coming for dinner or not?” With that, he led the way to the kitchens, the boy lumbering at his heels.

*******************************

Wednesday, May 6 into Thursday, May 7; afternoon until after midnight

There was another meeting early tomorrow. Everyone was supposed to be resting tonight. Though she was worn out from the raid last night and the intense emotions surrounding Charlie’s almost-rescue, Ginny was using her rest time to bake pies again. She was having no better luck. But dammit, she needed to put her stupid love into the stupid pies. For Harry. For everyone.

She was exasperated when she heard the door creaking open. Had she not told the damn elves enough times to leave her be? She turned to yell at them and her jaw dropped. Professor Snape and Gregory Goyle had just walked into the kitchen. She was now having a staring contest with two Death Eaters. Maybe former-Death Eaters; she wasn’t sure. The important part was that she was having a staring contest with them, alone, in a kitchen filled with failed pies. 

Goyle’s eyes lit up at the sight of all the pies. He immediately reached for one.

“Oh don’t!” Ginny cried, “They’re awful. It’s Mum’s recipe, but they don’t taste like pies should, and the stupid things are full of love but I guess nothing else that makes a pie come together right.” By the end, her voice was almost a wail. 

“We are here for dinner, Miss Weasley. Goyle, put that down. We’ll take care of ourselves and be out of your way.” Snape stuck his nose in the air as though the very scent of the pies offended him. As he walked past the row of them, however, he suddenly turned on his heel, his cape flowing dramatically around him. “Pies filled with...love, you say?”

Ginny was hesitant to answer. Snape had always been a bully, and the concept was whimsical at best. “Mum always said it was her secret ingredient. I was hoping it would wake Harry. He’s always loved Mum’s pies. And Mum herself. Maybe I should feed her a bad one. She might wake up just to tell me what’s wrong with them.” She laughed at herself for the thought, wiping away the beginning of tears before they could fall.

Snape was staring at her. “Is that all you’re adding?” His tone made it sound like she was an utter moron.

“Well I’ve put in the bits that make it a pie, too, flour, sugar…”

“Yes, but the love,” he drawled, sneering, “how are you adding it? What other special ingredients are you adding?”

Ginny snapped back, “With my magic, of course. Nothing else special, just following Mum’s recipe.”

Snape stormed up next to her and looked at the recipe. “A bit of rosemary for love. Molly’s a genius. Add more rosemary. Let’s see, sliced Adder’s tongue, a bit of powdered dogwood, juice of aloe - not too much, yarrow for healing, some powdered thunderbird claw for strength, a bit of rose. Iris! Goyle, go to the greenhouse and fetch some Iris. Weasley, run to the potions lab and get these things I just listed.”

Ginny was staring at him. What was he doing? Seeing the focus on his face, she suddenly knew she didn’t want to argue. She hiked up her robes and ran, all the way there and back with the ingredients he had mentioned. Before long, she was back to baking - with Snape by her side. He was almost in a frenzy, he was so focused. 

“Weasley, use your magic, but this time add hope as well as your love. We’ll wake them as soon as these pies cool.”

Ginny did as he commanded, holding her breath until she felt her magic sink in. Now they popped those pies in the oven, several tweaked just the tiniest bit with this or that, and it was time to wait.

************************************************  
Thursday, May 7, 1998; wee hours of the morning

The first thing Harry was aware of was a strange but delicious taste in his mouth where there had been nothing for so very long. He hadn’t been sure there ever would be again. He had been floating, hazy memories or dreams, he wasn’t sure. Nothing truly significant. There was a yellow-green haze hanging around him through it all, but now it was fading, replaced by warmth, red and gold and a deep blue. There was the gentle green of rolling hills and plants. A subtle yellow from some flower. He tasted the colors and felt a wealth of longing to know what they were, where they had come from, how things were going to get better. Because they were going to. He could taste it. And love. Ginny. The love of a mother was somewhere in the background, too, but he mostly tasted Ginny.

His eyes flickered open to find her. Sure enough, Ginny was sitting next to his bed, a plate of pie in one hand and a fork in the other. Harry was confused to find Professor Snape hovering just behind her, and of course a concerned Madam Pomfrey next to him. Their faces, even Snape’s, were filled with joy when Harry’s green eyes swept across theirs. Ginny began crying happy tears. 

Arthur appeared behind Ginny, a partially eaten pie on a plate in his hand as well. “It worked!” he shouted. Harry could hear cheering and happy tears across the hall as well. Looking over, he saw Mrs. Weasley sitting up in a bed surrounded by three of her sons. One of those pried himself away and made his way over to Harry.

“Finally!” Ron said, grinning. He shouldered his sister to the side for a moment to hug his best friend. “We thought you weren’t coming back!”

Madam Pomfrey pressed her lips together. “That’s enough of that talk. I need to look my patients over. Miss Weasley, Mr. Weasley, please go check on your mother while I check over Mr. Potter.”

Harry groaned, “Please, Madam Pomfrey, there are so many things I need to know! I’m not even sure what day it is.”

Madam Pomfrey spoke up, “It’s been almost 3 days since the Battle. Voldemort is still out there, but his Death Eaters left once he was injured.”

“Oi! That reminds me. We need to know if we can trust this git,” Ron interrupted, pointing to Snape.

“Ronald Bilius Weasley!” his sister cried, “He just saved Harry!”

“You baked the pie,” Ron returned.

“But I never would have figured out the right things to add without his help!”

“Wait,” Harry said, “You’ve been baking pies...with Snape?” He couldn’t stop laughing as Madam Pomfrey shooed them away with the promise that they would be able to talk soon enough.


	10. Defeat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last segment jump is marked with ****TRIGGER WARNING**** It is a non-con scene between Bellatrix and Charlie. Seriously, it's not pretty. Please don't read it if you think it may upset you. There are no further plot points in the chapter except Charlie dealing with Bellatrix.

Thursday, May 7, 1998; late morning

The atmosphere at the meeting was jubilant. Madam Pomfrey had grudgingly allowed Harry and Mrs. Weasley both to attend as long as they promised to return directly after. Molly was clearly wearing out fast, but Harry seemed to be gaining energy as he greeted each person and the general atmosphere of the room ramped up. Even Remus was somewhat happy, or at least deeply relieved, to see Harry.

If only Dora were with him to celebrate. This meeting was supposed to cover her rescue attempt, but the younger set were seemingly uninterested now. Did they even care that she was gone? He caught Kingsley’s eyes and tried to convey that he needed the meeting to start. The other man inclined his head slightly, indicating that he knew.

Kingsley stood and waited a moment while everyone settled down. An excited Harry Potter was the last person to quiet. “As pleased as we all are that Mr. Potter and Mrs. Weasley are here with us again, that is not what this meeting is for.” There were a few groans and mumbles. Some were ready for a few days of break. There was simply still too much to do, too many people to worry about to even think of taking the needed days to recuperate. 

First, Harry was asked about Snape and he told the entire story, spilling secrets that the older man was quite unhappy with being common knowledge. There were many still disgruntled by his treatment of students over the years, but it was accepted that he wasn’t actually evil. Everyone was talking loudly, arguing amongst themselves about how far Snape could be trusted when they were interrupted.

Kingsley raised his voice and spoke somewhat harshly, “He’s one of us now. There are more important things to discuss. Tonks was captured during yesterday’s mission. It is assumed she is still being held in the Manor. Meanwhile, the other prisoners from the battle are at Nott Manor. We will be sending two groups out today, one after another, to try and reach our people.”

Ron stood. “With all due respect, sir, why are we sending the groups at separate times instead of together? Wouldn’t it make more sense to either storm one at a time with full forces or divide and attack at the same time so that they can’t call each other for reinforcements?”

“I think I’ve already come up with a reasonable plan. Sit down, Mr. Weasley and let the adults do their job. Without your plan for last night, we might not even need to do this.” 

Remus could see Ron fuming from across the room. He hated that his own harsh words had been so similar. One of the Aurors, Robards, stood. “Kingsley, the plan worked far better than we had imagined. The boy deserves some credit. We all know Tonks has a habit of falling into trouble.” There were a few giggles, and Remus had to smile. His Dora was one of the clumsiest people he knew. She was also an excellent Auror, but how she managed while tripping everywhere, he would never know.

He shook his head and tried to focus on the plans. He would be traveling to Malfoy Manor with several Aurors and a handful of kids - Dean, Seamus, Susan, Luna, and the new Finian fellow - to try to sneak back in. The other team included Kingsley himself, Bill Weasley, a couple more Aurors, and some kids - Ron, Michael Corner, and Cho Chang. Until Nott Sr. arrived next week, it was known to be lightly guarded. 

As they started to file out of the room, Remus felt a hand on his shoulder. “Professor Lupin!” Harry cried, throwing his arms around the man, “I’m so sorry about Tonks! I could come with you and help.”

“No, Harry,” Remus said. “You need to spend a few more days getting better.”

Harry looked hurt and a little angry, but nodded. “Well then, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do while you’re out there.”

That made Remus laugh. “You sound just like Sirius.”

“I am very serious.” Harry winked and walked away. Remus headed out with a lighter step and greater hope that he would return with the love of his life.

OooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooO

Hermione was feeling defeated. She had sent her message again twice today. The second time, she added The Burrow and Grimmauld Place as well. No one had come before and it didn’t seem anyone would come this time either. She knew that many of them were still wanted Undesirables, so they hadn’t been captured, but she wasn’t sure where else they might be hiding. There was Hogwarts, of course, but she had no idea if they still controlled it or if the Death Eaters had it. 

She knew it was silly to feel so down after only two days, but her emotions had been out of control today. She had snapped at Mimsy this morning when she insisted on reapplying the cream that helped her phantom aches. She cried when no one came to meet her at the wizarding pub she had indicated this time. All day she had felt a sense of loneliness and worry. The feelings of pain she had two nights before were no longer with her, but she was still thinking about them and wondering where they came from - and if whoever had experienced it for real was ok today.

Now, she was facing the necessity of finding some kind of work for tomorrow so they could pay again. They could go into hiding in the tent as she had been with Harry and Ron for the last year. She just wasn’t sure she had the energy to do that again. 

She looked around. This place, La Licorne Errante, was too slow, she thought, to offer work here. Plus she was using it as her meeting spot. If the Death Eaters intercepted her message, she didn’t want them to see her here all the time, even glamoured. She had seen “Help Wanted” signs in a couple of shops, but she wasn’t sure her French was solid enough to work in a busy shop. 

On her walk back to the hotel, she happened by a bookshop with dirty old windows you could hardly see through. What little she could see, though, appeared to be stacks and stacks of old books. It was squeezed so tightly between two other buildings that she wondered if it had been there all this time. There was a sign on the door wanting a helper, but Hermione wasn’t certain it was recent. It may have been there for years by the look of it, but she decided it was worth checking and headed in.

OooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooO

Thursday, May 7, 1998; evening

Both raids were back now and the castle was in chaos again. Harry could only observe parts of it, still stuck in the hospital wing. There was an unfortunate amount of excitement here, though. Seamus and Dean were brought in by a man Harry didn’t recognize - Finian, a wizard they had freed during the first mission. He answered all of Harry’s questions about how it happened.

One of the Aurors had been killed almost as soon as they arrived, and Seamus and Dean had been injured shortly inside the grounds. No one even made it into Malfoy Manor. Still, they made more progress than the team at the other manor. Nott Manor was so well warded that Bill and Kingsley together couldn’t break through to it. They had to leave when guards started running toward them. 

Harry, shooed away from Seamus and Dean by Madam Pomfrey, made his way over to the Weasleys. The family was all so relieved Molly was awake now, even if she was still weak. Madam Pomfrey was just a little miffed at them all for feeding her the magical pie. Apparently, she would have benefited from a few more days of outright rest before waking. Her condition was quite a bit more physically taxing than Harry’s had been. As best as Madam Pomfrey had been able to explain it to him, it had been more of a mental or maybe spiritual block on coming back.

As he approached, Harry held out his arms to Ginny, who ran into them gratefully. They hadn’t officially restarted their relationship, but unofficially they couldn’t get enough of holding one another and talking quietly about absolutely everything. Ron rolled his eyes at them, “That’s my sister, you might remember,” he good-naturedly ribbed his best friend. Harry grinned at him, not loosening his grip in the slightest.

“Harry dear,” Mrs. Weasley called softly. She embraced him in a hug and fussed over how skinny he was, but she couldn’t squeeze him as she normally would, and they weren’t in her kitchen where she could try to fatten him up. Harry still appreciated the motherly care, but it felt off coming from her this way. As he glanced around, he could see worry in Arthur and Percy’s eyes, a dull kind of acceptance in George’s. Ron and Ginny didn’t seem to notice how weak she was, but that was probably for the best. 

As he was pulling away, before Ginny grabbed him again, Harry revealed his purpose for coming over, “Ron, can we talk over at my bed?” Ginny looked curious, but let them go with a sigh. 

The tall, ginger boy followed him down a few beds to Harry’s own, and they began to whisper. “What do you think went wrong?” Harry asked. “With the mission?”

“What went wrong?” Ron repeatedly incredulously. “The idiots thought they could break in in broad daylight as just a force coming to the gates. Not that they would have fallen for the same trick as last time anyway, but you can’t just knock on the door and ask for a fight.” He was raging and his skin had all turned a bright red. “Now we’ve lost a good man - Nelson, pretty new, but well-trained - and we have two more good men injured. Seamus is in bad shape. Dolohov must’ve been there. What the spell did is sickening.”

Harry nodded along. “What would you do instead?” 

Ron took a deep breath. “First, they either wouldn’t be splitting up or they would split up at the same time. Second, we’re not going to be able to use the front gates again anytime soon. The wards are a problem, but if Bill worked at them in a secluded location, he could get them down. They’re not as intricate as the ones at Nott Manor from what I’ve heard. Now that we’ve tried a few times, I don’t think large teams are a good idea for these raids. Just a couple could get in, maybe on broomsticks after someone got past the wards, grab the prisoners, and get back out. The same basic idea as before, but without the distraction of another battle. Quietly, this time. It’s important to keep changing tactics on them so they never know what to expect.”

Harry stared at him for a moment. “When did you get so good at this stuff?”

Ron scoffed. “Who was the chess strategy champ first year? I’ve always been good at planning this sort of tactical stuff. There just wasn’t a use for it until now.”

“We’ve got to get Kingsley and Lupin to listen to you!” Harry said excitedly. 

Ron shook his head. “I’ve already tried. They’re blaming me for Tonks getting captured. That mission was my plan.”

“What!?” Harry nearly shouted, quieting down at a vicious look from Madam Pomfrey. “That’s not right. You rescued Neville and gathered all kinds of information. You couldn’t predict someone getting captured.”

Ron shrugged. “I’m glad we went in, but I feel awful that she’s there, now, too.”

“Too?” Harry queried. He suddenly remembered a question he had been meaning to ask but had a sick feeling he already knew the answer. “Ron, where is Hermione? I thought she must be off researching something somewhere, but it’s not like her to have not made it by to see me. Or to miss the meeting this morning.”

Ron’s freckles stood out against his pale skin. “We don’t know. She was supposed to be at Malfoy Manor, but no one could find her. No one knew anything about her. They obliviate everyone all the time, I guess. Leave them with a sense of pain and dread, but no memories of what has happened to them. Another form of torture, I guess. Or they want to be very sure no one knows what happens at their Revels and in the halls of their Headquarters.”

“How do you know so much about it then?” 

“Charlie told us all he could, Bill and I. He belongs to Bellatrix, so he hadn’t been obliviated lately. We couldn’t get him out of there, but he told us all kinds of stuff. He’s how we know the prisoners are at Nott Manor. And Finian knows a lot about how things work.”

“But Hermione’s a prisoner somewhere, for sure?” Harry looked somewhere between devastated and furious. Ron could only nod. 

Harry got that determined look on his face. “They’re going to listen to you, Ron. We’re breaking in and we’re going to get them out - all of them!”

*****TRIGGER WARNING*****

Friday, May 8, 1998; afternoon

Charlie swallowed hard when he heard a commotion in the hallway, but his chin was up and he was staring defiantly at her when Bellatrix burst angrily through the door. He still couldn’t decide if it was easier to handle her anger or the maniacal highs when she had fun murdering or torturing people before she came to use him. The anger hurt more, but he felt like he had a little more control in those times, as long as he played along with her first. When she was excited....there was no telling what she would do or how she would react to anything.

Before he could complete a thought, the crucio had begun. He fought not to scream. He knew she would continue until he did, but it always seemed to amuse her the longer he could hold out. Amusing her was the best way he had found so far to calm her. Then they could get to the more enjoyable part. Charlie felt the intense shame, again, of realizing there was any part of this situation that he enjoyed, but he couldn’t deny it to himself. This part was like the flame of his dragons - painful but exhilarating. He reached out and gripped the bed post, white knuckled, to hold himself back. When he finally gave in, even that hurt. His throat was raw from all the screaming since his capture. 

She was holding it longer than usual. Someone must have made her particularly angry this time. Or maybe it was just her way of saying she had missed him. She hadn’t come back to the room in a couple of nights. Since before Neville’s rescue. 

If he hadn’t already been pale from the amount of pain he was enduring, he knew he would have gone ghostly white at that realization. She had to know he was responsible for them finding and freeing the boy. Fuck. This time she was angry with him.

“Did you think I wouldn’t know you told them where to find him?” she screeched at him. The crucio stopped so he could answer, but Charlie could barely catch his breath before another hit him. “Of course you had to know, worthless blood traitor.”

He slid to the floor as his legs gave out. His screams had become almost silent, his voice so far gone that he couldn’t make a sound. She laughed and let up on the spell. “Worthless worthless blood traitor. Even they think you’re worthless.” Charlie’s hands were suddenly bound behind him, rigid, thrusting his chest forward as she pulled him up onto his knees. Her bony fingers grabbed his chin and yanked him forward, forcing his eyes onto hers. 

“I spoke with Mulciber and Yaxley. They were two of my dear friends fighting up here. They told me something interesting, something a little unbelievable - that your own brothers were the ones who left you here.”

Charlie gave no outward sign, but he felt like he had been punched in the gut. He had told them to. He had told them where the younger man was in the first place so they could rescue him before he died, but he wondered now if he had just volunteered to take his place. “Told them to go,” he rasped, unable to get more out.

“Ah. The brave dragon tamer. You’re not a bit upset that two of your brothers cared so little about you that they let you stay here to be tortured? I had always heard the blood traitor Weasleys were all about family. You’ve been away, though, off in some far away country with your dragons. I guess you’re not as much a part of the family anymore, are you?” She laughed when he flinched just a little.

It had been a tiny movement, but he couldn’t hide it. Charlie had felt like an outcast for years now. He had needed his space, but it was hard to see his family grow away from him while they all grew closer together. Even Bill. He knew there was a sheen of unshed tears in his eyes now.

“Your big brother is some great curse breaker, isn’t he? You think he couldn’t figure out this collar around your neck?” She ran a finger along it, then slammed her hand against his neck and squeezed, making breathing impossible for long moments. Then she stood, grabbing him by the hair instead, wrenching his head up and his torso backward so that the muscles in his abdomen and thighs strained and the pain pushed the tears down his cheeks. She continued, laughing, “The magic isn’t even complicated on that thing. It would only have taken him a few minutes, I’m sure. But you aren’t worth those few minutes. You aren’t worth coming back for after they fought through my friends. They stunned them all - did you know? Of course you didn’t. They left you here anyway.”

Charlie fought to breathe from the position she still held him in. He knew exactly how he needed to move to get out of this, years of getting caught in difficult positions by the dragons had given his body the muscle memory to do it, but he couldn’t thanks to the collar, and it was painful. Coupled with the things she was saying - she had never attacked him like this before. He found the emotional battering, digging into his darkest thoughts and insecurities, much harder to take. That she was straining his body in such an exhausting way made it worse. If she hadn’t been holding him up by his hair, he knew he would collapse right now.

Through his tears, he saw her smiling happily, the terrifying smile that meant she was truly enjoying herself. “I must say I’m glad they don’t care about you. I’m glad they left you here for me to enjoy. You’re so pretty when you cry,” she said sweetly, wiping away his tears with her free hand. He wanted to turn away, but didn’t dare. He felt like she had beaten his soul and he just didn’t have the energy to fight any harder right now. She pulled his body forward, allowing some of his tense muscles a break, though she left his hands bound and his chest pushed out. She seemed to like how helpless it made him. 

Taking his elbow in hand, she gently tugged him up onto the bed. He groaned as feeling rushed back into his lower legs. Her hands were caressing him as she settled him into a sitting position on the bed: so soft, so gentle. He was so exhausted that he relaxed into it as much as he could. 

The crucio struck him full force, so hard it made him scream immediately, despite the state of his throat. Charlie couldn’t think. He saw stars and then blackness.

It felt like minutes later when he came to. “Well,” she said, clearly angry again, “You’re not being much fun tonight. But don’t worry. I will take my fun from you.”

Charlie closed his eyes for a moment to block out this nightmare. He wanted nothing more than to escape, but he knew there was no way. He had let his only hope of that go without him. 

Bellatrix casually began moving his body again. She finally released his arms from behind his body but gave him no time to recuperate. When she moved him onto all fours, his arms collapsed instead of holding him up. “Well, if you insist,” she giggled. He found that his forearms were held to the bed with a sticking charm as well as his lower legs along his shins, leaving his arse solidly available in the air.

“Evanesco,” she chanted and his dragonhide pants were gone, leaving him bare.

“No!” he cried. Charlie felt panicked. She had taken them off before and he hated it. This was so much worse. The one article of clothing he had still been allowed was completely gone. 

“Accio paddle,” she said, her voice filled with anticipation. “Since the big bad dragon tamer can’t handle any more magic, we’ll just have to get a little....physical.”   
Charlie shuddered at the way she relished that last word, her hand groping at his bum as she said it. 

The paddling hurt, he could soon feel welts rising in places, but it wasn’t anything like a curse. There was a rhythm to it that he could almost relax into if she had only been doing that. Soon, however, he heard her whisper, “Piertotum Locomotor” and the thick heavy paddle was hitting him by itself.

Bellatrix brought her hands under him, lightly stroking his cock. Even through the pain, he felt himself growing hard and she began laughing. “I do wish you wouldn’t lie to me and pretend you don’t like this, blood traitor. Isn’t it hard” she squeezed his cock, “to know that your body is a traitor, too?” One hand traced down and cupped his balls while the other pumped along his shaft. His cock was hard as steel within moments, even as the paddle began hitting him considerably harder. Charlie’s breath caught in his throat and he groaned with need. He knew that the more noise he made, the sooner this would end. Nevermind the fact that he needed to make the sound. 

She dropped his cock suddenly. Bellatrix moved to the head of the bed in front of him and began pulling up her skirts to reveal that she wore no knickers. Charlie tried to pull his head away as she maneuvered herself so that her center was directly under his face. Before he knew what was happening, her legs were around his head, forcing his mouth and nose into her cunt. He felt like he was suffocating. “Mmmmm. Yes, just keep struggling like that, dragon boy. Use your tongue and I might let you out eventually.” 

Charlie had no choice. If he wanted to breathe, he had to move his mouth and nose to gasp for air, and that brought him into full contact with her most intimate areas. His cock was still hard and the arousal made a certain part of him want to lick and touch a woman - even her. He was furious that his body was betraying him again. He used that anger to lash out at her slit and her clit with his tongue as hard as he could manage.

It didn’t take very long before Bellatrix was wiggling and screaming beneath his ministrations, calling him names and berating him as she did. He felt himself get even harder, especially as the paddle finally stopped when she lost her concentration in bliss. She released the spells holding him down, leaving only the collar to trap him to the vicinity of the bed. He moved away from her dripping cunt, sliding back on the bed. Bellatrix was spent, and it seemed their little session might finally be over. Only, Charlie was still achingly turned on.

He panted hard for a couple of moments. He could wank, but she would likely stop him just before he finished, making it worse. She was watching him through slitted eyes. If there was going to be an enjoyable ending to tonight’s activities for him, he was going to have to make it happen in a way that would distract her. He would have plenty of time to hate himself for it afterward.

Before she could realize what he was doing, Charlie pounced toward her and flipped the woman onto her stomach, arse up just as he had been. With her skirts still up around her waist and her cunt soaked from her orgasm and his tongue, he slammed himself deeply inside her. Bellatrix squealed with surprise but didn’t begin fighting against him until he was well and truly fucking her. He couldn’t stick her to the bed with magic, but he was physically larger and stronger than her and managed to hold her in place as she struggled against him. He didn’t dare waste any breath taunting her.

Suddenly, her fight to push him away became the breathy sounds she had made just before she exploded earlier. Her muscles tightened spasmodically around him as she came again, pulling him under with her. He gave a shout as he let himself go, deep within her. The orgasm had been so intense, and he was so exhausted that he was trembling as he pulled out of her and collapsed on the bed.

He didn’t dare look at her, keeping his head turned away. A part of his brain was saying he would be better prepared for whatever she did next if he was facing her, but he just couldn’t make himself.

“So the dragon tamer thinks he can take what he wants from me, does he?” she said, still a little breathlessly. “Crucio.” 

He couldn’t make a noise, just soundlessly shook from the pain. She didn’t hold it very long. “Just a little lesson. I do enjoy you giving me another reason to punish you.”

Charlie shuddered with disgust when she ran her fingers through his hair and petted down his body. “I enjoy these muscles. And the way you’re trying to tell yourself you didn’t enjoy it all. Next time you will let me look at you while you wrestle me. I might let you win again.” With that, she got up off the bed and headed for the door.

“And dragon tamer - if you’re foolish enough again to try to escape or to help others - because there will be plenty of others - know that I will kill you, slowly and painfully.”

She left him alone in the room, nude and covered in her juices, with his own dark thoughts. Charlie was so drained that he fell asleep minutes later, only a few tears dripping from his eyes before they closed.


	11. Rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a new trigger warning - miscarriage. In general the scene they come upon is kind of rough. There will be a clear boundary before we descend into that part. I will provide a summary of the plot points at the end of the chapter. 
> 
> EDIT: This story currently has 91 subscriptions. When it gets to 100, I will release the next chapter (perhaps un-beta-ed depending on how much time she has) plus one at the regular time next Thursday. 
> 
> I am still not J.K. Rowling, so these characters and this world still don't belong to me.

Saturday, May 9, 1998

There had been 2 more raids in as many days, neither of them at all successful. Three more people had been lightly injured, but no one had died. The injuries had been patched up immediately by Madam Pomfrey, but she couldn’t heal the gloom in the castle. The wards still hadn’t been fixed, so rebuilding the castle itself was at a standstill. Instead, they were shoring up the parts that were undamaged or easily fixed, working on making that section as defensible as possible. 

Ginny and Harry had been working together on the castle and seemed happiest when they were together. Ron knew they were both worried about Hermione and Tonks and the others as well, but they had each other and they just weren’t struggling the way he was. Ron was overwhelmed with frustration. Before and after every raid, he presented his plan. He explained over and over that they wouldn’t get in with brute force again so soon - that it would go better with stealth this time. Taking a couple of days off probably would have helped, too, though he felt frantic to get to Hermione. He was done trying to convince his superiors. It was time to take action.

“Harry,” Ron called, seeing his best friend up ahead, “Headmistress Sprout asked me to come fetch you.”

They hadn’t been touching before, but Ron saw Harry drag his hand along Ginny’s waist as he began walking toward him. Ron rolled his eyes. He wasn’t sure if they were officially together again, but they could barely stand to be apart. If it weren’t his sister and best friend in question, he might have speculated that they probably weren’t even separating at night, but that was too gross to consider. Ron shook the thought away.

Once they had made their way around a couple of corners and down a staircase, Ron jerked Harry aside. “Sprout doesn’t really need you, but I need to talk without my sister around. It’s about Hermione and the prisoners.”

Harry had looked angry for a moment before nodding seriously when he mentioned Hermione. He knew her absence was weighing heavily on the man who considered her his sister. 

“Kingsley is never going to agree to my plan. I think I talked Remus around, but we’re running out of time before Nott Sr. takes over at his Manor.”

“On our own, then?” Harry asked.

“Almost. We’ll need Bill. And Remus if he wants to go.”

“Don’t you think it will be too dangerous to ask them? What if they won’t do it?”

Ron looked at him for a moment before shaking his head. “We don’t have to worry about it. I know they’ll both do it. Bill’s been researching those wards and wants another go at them. He’s going mad. He told me something. Harry, Fleur is pregnant. Just a couple of months along. Bill’s falling apart not knowing if she and the baby are ok.”

Harry’s mouth was in a perfect O of shock. “We have to get her out. What about Remus? You said he was in, too?”

“He has volunteered for every attempt. He’s as desperate to rescue Tonks as Bill is to get Fleur.”

“But she’s more likely to be at Malfoy Manor,” Harry stated.

“More likely doesn’t mean there isn’t a chance. We can talk him into it. Or we can leave him out of it. What do you think?”

Harry debated for a moment, “Teddy may already lose one parent. Let’s not be involved in making him an orphan. You said your plan works best with fewer people anyway, right?”

That was a point. Ron smiled. This was going to work perfectly. “Let’s go get Bill and finalize plans for tonight,” he said.

**********************************

Hermione enjoyed this job. It was quiet and simple. Because she spoke some French, the old man running the place - as much an antique himself as many of the books - set her to sorting and tagging all the French and English books he had stuck in the back. She had no idea how he would ever fit them in the main part of the store, but she also wasn’t sure it mattered. This was her third day here and she had never seen or heard a customer come in. When she asked, he explained that most of his business was done through owl ordering. These books were for a very special audience most of the time. 

There were moments when Hermione felt that the special audience was her. More curiously, her unusual boss came into the back the first evening to pay her and said, “Ramenez a la maison un par jour, mademoiselle.” Then he disappeared back up front. One book per day that she could just have. From all these tomes; some practically ancient. 

That first day Hermione had a terrible time choosing but went home with a book called Charming Wands that covered wand lore, some famous wands, and charms to place on wands, which Hermione hadn’t even known was possible. Her second book had been a tome on grey spells, Illumine Le Noir. She wasn’t sure she agreed anymore with Harry’s insistence that they use only light spells. Today, she had found a captivating book with some ancient warding techniques. She thought those might be useful to add to her repertoire and the ancient magics fascinated her. When she left the shop, her boss barely nodded at her. 

She was rushing to La Licorne Errante. She had sent out her Patronus message before she went to the bookstore earlier, this time chancing Grimmauld Place as well. Hermione had enough money today to buy dinner and take some home for Mimsy as well. Their portions were big enough that they might even get a couple of meals out of it. She preferred to stretch the money she was making since she wasn’t sure what would happen next.

The hotel they had stayed the first couple of nights had been too expensive to keep with, but they had helped her find a couple down the way with a room to let. The Stodgers were thrilled to have a sweet young woman and her old gran staying. Hermione insisted to them that the single room with one large bed was plenty of space, and that she could sleep on a little sofa in the room if need be. In truth, Mimsy insisted on the sofa for herself, but at least she wasn’t on the floor as she had planned. Hermione was having a very difficult time convincing her that she would be better off free.

Hermione was disappointed when she had eaten her fill and still no one she knew had appeared. She began packaging up her food when she caught sight of movement near the door. Glancing up, she tensed as she realized it was someone she knew, but not in a good way. Corban Yaxley had just walked in with a second Death Eater she didn’t recognize. She had to school her breathing to keep from bolting. She reminded herself that she did not appear to be who they were looking for. As long as her glamour held, she was safe. She just needed to get out before someone hit her with a Finite Incantatum. As she finished gathering her leftovers into her bag, the two men began moving among the other patrons of the pub, swishing their wands at each of them.

Hermione stood and started toward the door. She didn’t look their way, but in her peripheral vision, she could see Yaxley starting her way from across the room. “Where do you think you’re going?” he shouted as her hand touched the door to go out. 

“Tu me parle? Je parlais Francais,” she replied as though she didn’t understand. Clearly Yaxley didn’t understand her, because he looked irritated. Hermione rolled her eyes and stepped out the door...to find Dolohov and Lucius Malfoy waiting outside. She should have apparated from inside, and who cared that they would have known it was her. Now they would know and she was likely not going to make it out of here. 

“Bonsoir Messieurs,” she said to this as though she was not being chased by their comrade and about to be taken down by them as well. She noticed Malfoy look up and down her body as she was walking away, a quiet, “Désolé de te voir aller belle dame,” floating after her. 

Miraculously, she managed to turn the corner beyond the building before she heard Yaxley slam out the door, “Did you get her? It has to be the mudblood!” There was spluttering and the sound of feet dashing her way, but Hermione had already begun to spin and disapparate. 

***********************************

Harry, Ron, and Bill were crouched down outside the wards of Nott Manor underneath his invisibility cloak. It wouldn’t cover all three of them completely, but the grass was tall enough here to cover their lower halves. As they got inside, one or two of them would need to disillusion themselves instead. It was dusk again. Harry felt like it was the best time for effective raids.

Bill had been working on the wards for close to an hour, gently teasing them apart. “Done,” he whispered, wiping sweat from his brow. 

Harry looked to Ron. The other boy nodded. Under the cover of the cloak, the three of them crept forward, Harry in the lead. They were approaching the house when they heard a low voice.

“You can stop right there,” someone to their side said with a cocky tone.

All three moved the cloak, dropping it in their haste, so that their wands were out and shooting spells at the man. Shockingly, they all stopped several feet in front of him with no sign of where they went. 

“Do you really think I would have spoken to you without covering my arse first?” the young man scoffed. His wand was held aloft, but he wasn’t sending any spells their way. Harry took a long look at him. He looked vaguely familiar. He was about their age, tall and weedy with dark curly hair nearly as out of control as Harry’s own. As they stood there, he lit up his wand with a Lumos and quipped, “Easier to find something you like if you can see my sweet body better.” He winked at them. His eyes twinkled sapphire blue in the light.

“Who the bloody hell are you?” Ron demanded.

“I do apologize,” he replied, “My manners are slipping.” He bowed aristocratically and proclaimed, “I am Theodore Nicholas Nott, Jr., master of this manor for the moment. How may I be of service, Mr. Weasleys, Mr. Potter?”

Bill was looking around for a trap, casting diagnostics of the area, and snatching up the invisibility cloak. Ron seemed stunned. Harry wasn’t at all sure what to say, but he knew he needed to say something.

“Er…..hello. We’ve uh....we’ve come to negotiate.” Harry stammered.

The man raised an eyebrow. “Generally, negotiators come to the gate rather than slipping in through the wards. Come with me,” he said, walking toward the manor at a casual pace, not seeming at all concerned that they might hex him. They looked at each other. Ron shrugged and Bill grudgingly nodded. Harry followed first. 

As they walked, Nott kept up a steady stream of one-sided conversation. “I’m really quite impressed, Bill - it’s ok if I call you Bill, isn’t it? That double Mr. Weasley stuff is atrocious - quite impressed that you made it through my wards so quickly. You must have done some studying since you were last here. I wondered how well you might do if whoever planned the first raid at Malfoy Manor was ever allowed some more planning time. Who was that, by the way?”

“It was Ron here,” Harry answered automatically as both Ron and Bill glared at him and Ron stomped on his foot.

The man stopped abruptly, giving Ron a thorough once over. “Really?” he drawled as though he hardly believed it. 

Ron’s face and ears turned red. “Yes really, since Harry already let it out. I happen to be pretty good at planning things.” 

“I’ve got quite the trio here, don’t I?” the man asked rhetorically. They were up to the manor now, and he flung the front door open dramatically. “Parson!” he shouted and a wiry elf appeared. “Yes, Master?” 

“Be a good lad and bring us some firewhiskey to the study.” The elf bowed and was gone.

Bill was looking around with his wand still held ready for battle. Ron was vigilant also, though Harry was mostly drawn in by Theo’s monologue and the giant manor. It was a dark place: not just devoid of light, but with darkness sunk into every crevice. The furniture, even couches and chairs, were somehow grim. The art on the walls mostly consisted of nightmarish landscapes or scenes of grisly battle. Harry had to look away from the way they were moving.

Noticing the way the two redheads were on pins and needles, the young man said “If you’re worrying about the death eaters, well, the rest of the death eaters here, you needn’t bother. I poisoned them all. Most of them will probably wake up tomorrow, but they’re all out of our hair for tonight.”

He was so nonchalant. Harry’s jaw was hanging open and he couldn’t even form words. It was Ron who responded for all of them with a simple shocked, “What!?”

“You heard me. I poisoned them. It’s just us tonight.”

“What the bloody hell, Nott?” Bill managed.

“Not Nott, please. It’s a ridiculous name, really. I’m Theo.” For the first time he looked a little nervous instead of cocky. “I mean, I’d like to be Theo. My friends call me that and I’m hoping…” He cleared his throat, closed his eyes, and seemed to find his confidence again. “I have a proposal for you gentleman.” 

Theo was pouring drinks as he spoke, careful to do it right in front of them and immediately take a swig of his before handing a firewhiskey to each of them. Harry didn’t comment on how much Theo’s hands were shaking. He, Ron, and Bill exchanged a look, silently agreeing not to drink the firewhiskey even with Theo practically chugging it in front of them. He seemed nervous again.

“Listen. I’ve got the keys to the dungeons, and I want to give them to you. But I’ve got one condition.” He was fiddling with his cup and eyeing Harry’s. “If you’re not going to drink it, I will,” he suddenly declared as he grabbed the glass away from Harry and drained it. His eyes were starting to look a little glossed over.  
Bill seemed to have had enough. “I want my wife back and I want her now. What’s your condition? Quit playing with us.” He was as angry as Harry had ever seen him. 

Theo shrank away from him. It was in a child’s voice that he said, “Take me with you.”

“What? No!” Ron cried. “We wouldn’t want your sort around.”

“Please, take me. I can be a prisoner. Whatever you want. Just don’t leave me here. I already made a big mess of my rooms. It looks like there was a struggle. They’ll believe you’ve taken me.”

“Just run off somewhere, then. Why would we take you with us?” Ron bellowed.

Theo’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I have to fight this madness. I can’t just sit on the sides somewhere and watch! And I can’t just run. There are people I need to help. They want out but can’t. I have more leeway since I haven’t taken the mark yet. I’m not scheduled until my birthday so I’ve got a couple of weeks yet. I thought...I think...if I can show you all that I’m not a monster, maybe you can trust me. And maybe tonight we can start that with these.” He handed the keys to Bill and began to lead the way down into the bowels of the manor where the dungeon was located. He looked younger and nervous, not the cocky man he had been at first. The sight in the dungeon was bad. 

**********TRIGGER WARNING: MISCARRIAGE**************

The ragged prisoners turned toward the sound of people coming. “Who’s there!?” cried a panicked voice Harry recognized as Terry Boot from the DA.

“Harry Potter and Ron and Bill Weasley,” Harry announced as they made it to the bottom of the stairs, “Is that you, Terry?” he called.

“Yeah! Yeah, it’s me!” their old friend began laughing almost hysterically. They could hear voices behind him whispering and shouting and crying, “Harry Potter! Ron Weasley! They’re here to save us!”

When the torchlight revealed to them that Theo Nott was the one leading the way, there was a collective gasp. Before anything could be said, Bill was at the cell door with the keys, unlocking and rushing in.

“Beel!” Fleur cried feebly. She had Hannah Abbott on one side and Padma Patil on the other. She was surrounded by blood. It looked like all three of them had been bathing in it. “Beel! I ‘ave lost her, I theenk. I am so sorry, ‘usband.” She was sobbing into his arms, utterly heartbroken. 

“Hush, my love, hush. You’re alive. We’ll get you to Madam Pomfrey.”

“We did everything we could,” Hannah said to him. “It may not look like it, but the bleeding has stopped. Padma knew the spells to stop it.”

“But she needs blood replenishing potion soon or..” Padma trailed off not wanting to say that his wife, too, was fading.

Harry was watching the scene in horror when Ron suddenly roared beside him and slammed Theo against the wall, “How could you do that to her? That’s my sister! That was my first niece she was carrying!” punctuating every statement by forcing the man’s head into the wall. 

“Ron!” Harry yelled, wrenching his hands off of Theo. His curly hair was matted with blood as he slid to the ground, eyes dazed. 

A Hufflepuff walked over to them, his uniform and tie so dirty they almost couldn’t tell its color. His hand lightly touched Ron’s arm as he angled his body slightly protectively in front of Theo. “I’m Jacob Finch-Fletchley. My brother’s in your year and a member of Dumbledore’s Army and everything. I don’t remember anything much since the battle, but I do remember that bloke there telling the guards they couldn’t manhandle us. He said it like it wasn’t the first time he had to say it. They must have obliviated us right after we got here because I don’t remember anything before that. Point is - I think he’s decent enough. He would never have done that himself and he did what he could to keep the bastards in line.”

Bill had scooped up Fleur and was already halfway up the steps. Ron started herding everyone out of the cell - Hannah, Padma, Jacob, his Ravenclaw friend Matthias, and a little Slytherin boy who couldn’t have been more than 12. Harry debated for a moment, then threw Theo over his shoulder. They were going to be moving quickly if they wanted to keep up with Bill. The young man moaned and probably protested, but Harry wasn’t really listening. Even knowing the death eaters were supposed to be neutralized, getting out of the manor was a frightening experience for them all. Most of the captured were injured, Hannah and Matthias were having trouble walking. As soon as they moved across the wards, they began apparating everyone out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary of the dark part:
> 
> Fleur likely suffered a miscarriage due to her treatment as a prisoner and may die herself. Ron blamed Theo for it and beat him up. One of the prisoners, Jacob Finch-Fletchley (Justin's brother) defended Theo. Harry takes a barely conscious Theo with him as they escape with all the prisoners.
> 
> EDIT: This story currently has 91 subscriptions. When it gets to 100, I will release the next chapter (perhaps un-beta-ed depending on how much time she has) plus one at the regular time next Thursday. NEXT CHAPTER HAS A DRACO UPDATE.


	12. No One Should Live In A Closet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAY!!!! 100 subscriptions feels like a big accomplishment. I'm so excited to go ahead and post this early and another in a few days. Waiting a whole week to post is hard. Thank you to the faithful readers who made this happen - old and new! You're wonderful.
> 
> I am also grateful to my amazing beta, @highlyintelligentblonde, who went ahead and looked this chapter over early for me.
> 
> There is a portion with warnings around it. It's fairly brief, but I will sum it up at the end for anyone who doesn't wish to read that part.

Sunday, May 10, 1998, morning

It had been 5 days. Blaise was nervous that his best friend, the one who had rescued him from the life he was supposed to lead, wasn’t going to wake up this time. He had done everything he could. The anti-venom he had used was strong - one of the only brews strong enough to combat Nagini’s particularly nasty venom. Draco had just been so weak already before the snake attacked. 

The repeated crucios had caused problems for everyone in the Manor. If the Dark Lord kept this up, he wasn’t going to have anyone in his army who could hold a wand steady. Blaise himself had found his hands shaking for the first day or so after. He couldn’t imagine how much damage the extra attacks had done to his friend’s nervous system.

Then there was the beating. He hated to think it, but Draco was actually lucky. Greyback had neither raped nor bitten him - his two favorite activities with victims. Blaise had been terrified for him when Lord Voldemort handed him over to the werewolf. Still, being beaten by a gang of people was nothing to be brushed off. Draco had already been hit that morning and been out for some time, then one of the blows to his head had landed on the exact same spot. There had been so many broken bones and a rather severe concussion. Even after 5 days some of his bones were still re-growing. His head was likely still addled. Healer Blaise was glad his patient’s body was taking the time it needed to heal. Friend Blaise was losing his mind. 

Narcissa wasn’t helping any. She was constantly there, wringing her hands and demanding to know why he was still out. No matter how many times Blaise explained it to her, she kept asking. He was beginning to wonder if the constant stress of playing hostess here, coupled with intermittent crucios, was starting to addle her mind. He wished she would admit that Lucius was never going to leave so that they could all run for it. Yes, he and Draco had the mark, but he thought he had come up with a salve and spell combination that would help block it. There would still be pain, but it wouldn’t be as excruciating. More important, the Dark Lord wouldn’t be able to trace the mark’s location once the salve sank in. 

Suddenly, there was a blast of dark magic and screaming from downstairs. Blaise closed his eyes, wondering what horror was happening now. He patted his friend on the arm, then got up and headed for his infirmary and lab. It was best that others didn’t have reason to remember his friendship with the youngest Malfoy more than necessary. There was more screaming and he knew his services would be needed later. So he went to the lab to finish some potions and begin brewing more - they went through them so fast - and to wait on the call that the Dark Lord was done punishing for whatever reason and would allow healing now.

*****************************************

Harry wasn’t sure how he felt about the Order’s one and only prisoner. Kingsley had made him deposit Theo, wandless, in a room that was basically just a closet, spelling him in without letting Madam Pomfrey even know he was there. In better times, they would have sent him to the Ministry to be booked and processed for sentencing. They couldn’t trust the Ministry, though, and Harry wasn’t sure he would allow that to happen to Theo anyway.

For all his blustering, the young man had clearly been scared, had done his best to protect the prisoners from the other death eaters, had personally attacked those death eaters, and bargained for his life. Harry hadn’t exactly given his word, but he didn’t think Theo deserved Azkaban. He felt very conflicted about locking him away in a closet. Ron thought it was hilarious, but Harry was worried that they hadn’t given him any medical attention first. Not that Madam Pomfrey would have had the time anyway. All of her attention and resources were going to Fleur.

Making up his mind, Harry headed back to the fourth floor corridor where Theo’s closet was. No one was guarding it. It was so nondescript that he might easily have been forgotten there. Harry quickly spoke the spell to take down the wards and opened the door.

“Urrrrrgh!” came a half-sobbed sound from the man cowered in a back corner. He had his arm over his eyes, shielding from the sudden light. “Who is it?” he whimpered. His knees were pulled up close to his body and he was nearly rocking back and forth. The cocky man they had first met was completely gone, dissolved into a terrified boy, shaking and crying.

“It’s just Harry. I’ve come to see about your head.” He moved forward slowly, afraid he would spook the guy. 

His eyes now adjusted, Theo stared up at Harry. “After, are you going to shut me back up here?” His voice was trembling. 

“I don’t know,” Harry admitted honestly. He knew Kingsley and probably Remus, too, would skin him alive for letting Theo out, but Harry didn’t know if he was willing to close him back in there seeing what it had done to him.

Theo shuddered, but then visibly tried to pull himself back together. “So we’re going with the prisoner option, eh? I signed up for that, but I guess I was hoping your side would be a little better.” His voice had begun optimistic and back to cocky, but slithered down to bitter by the end.

Harry looked at him. He wanted the Order to do better, too. He wished he had McGonagall to appeal to. Somehow he just knew she would take care of a student, no matter the side they came from. Professor - Headmistress rather - Sprout was a Hufflepuff, she should feel the same. 

“Look,” he said as he worked on the head injury. It was fortunately just a cut that bled a lot. He was pretty sure it was not a concussion or worse. “I want us to do better, too, but I have to get some others to agree with me first.”

Theo nodded, but Harry saw a flash of fear in his eyes. He wondered if he should ask what was bothering him so much, but determined as he got up and moved toward the door that it was really none of his business.

Just before his hand touched the door, Theo spoke in a strained voice, “Could you give me a light? Please. I won’t ask for anything else.”

Again Harry was curious and wanted to ask. Instead he just nodded and chanted, “Murus Lumos” and one wall began to glow. Theo practically collapsed with relief.

Harry barely heard him whisper “Thank you” as he closed and spelled the door shut.

*********************TRIGGER WARNING - MISCARRIAGE***********************

Severus found his skills in use again as Madam Pomfrey frantically ordered more blood replenishing potions. She was in the middle of trying to keep the Delacour girl alive and had used all she had. Thankfully, it seemed her blood levels had finally stabilized, but who knew when the next desperate emergency would rear its head. 

The castle had originally utilized a lab next to the hospital wing with a small living space beyond. Severus was working on re-opening it. He needed new quarters that didn’t belong to the Headmaster or the Potions Professor. Perhaps he could find his niche here helping Poppy for now, until this blasted war was over. He couldn’t spy anymore. He wasn’t sure how to help keep Potter alive. It was really a miracle the boy had survived this long. 

With a sigh, he made his way into the abandoned potions lab and began setting up cauldrons. Two full cauldrons should keep them in stock for a few days at least. He needed more time to get the rest of the room in decent shape. It would take many months before his ingredient stores were fully stocked, but he looked forward to acquiring them. Next he had to head down to the main potions room for the ingredients he had to have now.

Unfortunately, he was waylaid by a Weasley just outside the hospital wing. It was the oldest, a decent potions student if he recalled correctly.

“Professor Snape! Thank you for the brewing you’re doing. My wife...she wouldn’t have made it without the blood potions.”

Severus wasn’t sure what to do with that comment. “It is my job,” he finally replied. Though upon reflection, it wasn’t actually, but what else would he say?

“Madam Pomfrey says she’ll be ok. We can even try for another baby once she’s had some time to recover.” The man was babbling and Severus didn’t know how to properly show the patience he knew the situation called for. Bill, he recalled the man’s name, was still going, “I don’t know how I could have gone on without her. Losing Fred has been horrible. And Mum being out for so long. Charlie still… I just needed to thank you. I know not everyone trusts you, and you can be a right git sometimes, but I appreciate you.”

Severus slowly nodded, “You’re welcome.” After a moment of thought, he added, “And thank you,” before turning on his heel and billowing away.

***************************END TRIGGER*****************************

“I’m telling you, this will work!” Ron practically shouted. He was so tired of arguing with Kingsley. 

Remus had mostly accepted that he was better at strategy than they were. If anything, he seemed grateful to have one more thing off his plate. He very much wanted to be involved in any rescue attempts to get Tonks out, but he was willing to simply consult when it came to the actual planning. Some of his suggestions were very helpful. Ron had no trouble adding some experienced advice to his plans. He just wanted some respect. He had helped multiple people escape now.

His current plan was for the rescue of Professor McGonagall. She was being kept somewhere in the Crabbe household. She was supposed to be used as a maid or something similarly humiliating, but Ron couldn’t quite imagine that actually being true. Because the Crabbes were one of the less wealthy pureblood families, their home was much smaller. It would also be poorly guarded, so they wouldn’t need to be as careful here. The team would be small - Finian, who had been in the house many times before with Rookwood, Harry, and Ron himself. They were going to go in as a delivery wagon of cakes and other baked goods. Ron’s reasoning was that it had worked with Crabbe Jr. once upon a time. His parents weren’t known to be any smarter. They would let Finian go in and look around while Ron and Harry unloaded. It was a good working plan.

Kingsley was arguing, again, that they should take in a larger force. Why did it always have to be that fight? Every time they had employed those tactics, there had been an all out battle and people had gotten hurt. Not to mention that the missions hadn’t been successful.

“You can agree to this or we can go on our own. It might not work the first time since we don’t know where she is, but at the very least we’re going to gather information and it’s just going to be the three of us!” Ron’s ears and face were red. He slammed a fist down as he said it.

When Kingsley stormed away from the planning table and threw himself down behind his desk to ignore them, Ron took it as a win.

***********************************************************

Harry found Headmistress Sprout looking stressed in her office. For a split second, he worried that this would add unnecessary stress to her load. 

“Professor...er....Headmistress Sprout…”

“Yes, Harry?” she queried, clearly not interested in listening to anyone shuffle around a point.

“Um...yes. Well, there’s a student who needs your help.”

“A student?” She pushed her hat back a little further on her head and looked carefully at the boy before her in a way that made Harry quite certain she was wondering how he could possibly be the wizarding world’s savior. “The underage students have all gone home, Harry, if they have one left to go to. Those of age are reporting to Lupin. Is this about one of the orphans?”

“No. It’s...you see...he’s sort of a prisoner here…”

“We don’t take prisoners here.”

“I know we don’t!” Harry said, his internal compass flaring to life with renewed vigor. “He’s a student, not quite of age, and he bargained with me for the release of the prisoners at Nott Manor.”

“What!? Why have I heard nothing of this?” Headmistress Sprout was clearly offended.

“I’m not sure, Professor. I think Kingsley didn’t really know what to do with him since we don’t keep people locked up here. But there are so many other important things going on. And it’s not right to leave him locked in a closet.”

“They locked a student in a closet!?” Headmistress Sprout looked as angry as the time Seamus had bitten back a Venomous Tentacula that had taken a nip at him. He had ended up in the hospital for weeks and Sprout threatened to put him in there for double that time if he ever hurt her plant again. Harry was a little taken aback and uncertain again.

He rushed after her, catching up easily, on their way to Kingsley’s office. “Erm….maybe you should want to know who the student is?”

She stopped abruptly and turned toward him with her eyes squinting unhappily. “I can’t imagine why it would matter who we’ve imprisoned in a closet, but go on.”

“It’s, well, it’s Theo Nott.”

Sprout stared at him long enough for Harry to start squirming. “The Death Eater?” she finally asked.

“No, no! His son, Theo. He’s a Slytherin. He turns 17 soon, but he’s not of age quite yet. They were waiting to mark him, you see and…”

“So he’s just not old enough yet to be a real Death Eater?” Her voice was gruff and irritated. Professor Sprout had never had much patience for foolishness.

“Yes. No!” Harry was terrified he was going to bollocks this up for Theo. He took a deep breath, “What I mean is... he was with them but he didn’t want to be. He begged us to bring him here and offered to be a prisoner if he had to be. It was so that he wouldn’t have to become a Death Eater! We didn’t have to break our people out at all, Professor Sprout. He had already gotten the other Death Eater guards out of the way and gave us the keys to get everyone out. All he asked was that we let him come back with us. He wants to join the Order.”

She watched Harry for a moment before nodding and renewing her rampage toward Kingsley’s office. 

As they burst through his office door, Ron and Lupin looked up from the table in the middle of the room. Kingsley was at his desk, looking already angry. Harry suddenly realized it might have been in his best interest to let the headmistress handle this on her own.

“There you are!” Sprout half shouted at Kingsley, shaking her finger and heading his way. Harry was about to quietly follow in her wake when Ron gloriously interrupted. 

“Oi! Harry, I’m glad you’re here. We’re getting McGonagall out tomorrow and I’m going to need you for the team with me.” Ron motioned him over to the table. 

“Will you be with us, Remus?”

“Not this time,” he said, “I believe the two of you with Finian should be enough for this. We’re not expecting major wards or even many guards. And Fin’s been there many times.”

“Finian’s the one you all found at Malfoy Manor, right?” Harry queried. He still felt guilty that he hadn’t been awake yet at the time. In general, Harry felt like he had failed since he didn’t manage to kill Voldy. Everyone thought that would be the final battle, yet, the snake and Voldemort both still lived. The other side hadn’t even lost any Death Eaters of note. Meanwhile, their side had lost Fred forever - half of the twins - and George would never be the same. Plus they had taken so many prisoners. They still didn’t have a clue where Hermione was and Harry couldn’t even think about that without feeling panic rise. It was almost impossible to believe they would get everyone back, and apparently they hadn’t. The young Slytherin, who still wouldn’t give his name to anyone, said he remembered being grabbed along with 3 others before his obliviation. There was no telling what happened to them. Meanwhile, Hermione wasn’t the only one missing. No one had heard anything about Professor Flitwick either. And though they were hoping the intel on Professor McGonagall was correct, they wouldn’t actually know until they got there. 

Ron broke into Harry’s reverie. “Yeah, that’s the one. Good chap. We’ve had a pint a couple of times over at Hogs Head now. You should come with us tonight, get to know the guy a little before tomorrow.”

“Can’t. I have plans with Ginny tonight. I’ve been too busy today to spend time with her. You know what she’s like when I don’t pay enough attention.” Ron rolled his eyes. He certainly did know. 

Harry was glad that, at least, he still had one of his best friends with him. And Ginny by his side as well, however stupid it was to let her make a target of herself. He turned to Ron, “So tell me about this plan of yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the warning section, Bill thanks Snape for helping with potions. It is discussed that Fleur lost the baby but lived herself. She will be able to conceive in the future.
> 
> I know, the Draco part was kind of a teaser. *dodges rotten tomatoes* But now you know how he's doing. I swear you get a lot more with him on Thursday.


	13. Acceptance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is actually a chapter without triggers. Weird, I know. 
> 
> Hello to new readers - I feel like there are a lot since the last posting! I hope you love it. Don't be shy to let me know what you think.
> 
> As always, my beta, @highlyintelligentblonde, is amazing and much appreciated.
> 
> Unfortunately, Harry Potter still doesn't belong to me.

Monday, May 11, 1998

There was a pull in his stomach almost like the feeling of apparition but he was flying over the countryside. He was following the magic that called to him, rushing along on his broom with it stretching ever ahead of him. A beautiful song drifted back to him on the air. The magic was charming, sparkling gold, and felt like it was leading him home. It smelled of books, cinnamon, honey, and a touch of mint. There was nothing he wanted as much as to reach out and weave his hands into the magic. It danced around him, playing, teasing. But no matter how much he reached for it, he couldn’t get it in his hold. He was sure it would be soft, a brush with heaven, but he couldn’t move any faster toward it. 

Then it was a little further away. Since he couldn’t reach for it any faster, he was losing it. He could no longer feel that sense of home inside, it was now far away and he felt afraid. He couldn’t hear its music. The delightful scents of the magic were only a memory. His sight was suddenly going dark as the sparkling golden magic slipped away from him. There was a deep ache and helplessness as he suddenly realized his broom was gone and he was falling. In the background, the Dark Lord and his assembled Death Eaters were watching and laughing.

Draco woke up screaming. It was so abrupt that he caught Blaise completely off guard and caused his friend to give a yelp as well. Hearing voices in the hallway, Blaise reacted before his healer training could kick in, Stupefy, he knocked Draco right back out.

“What’s the brat screaming for already?” Dolohov asked with a laugh. He had flung the door open - Blaise hadn’t been allowed to lock it - and was leaning against the frame with a grin. “If he’s awake, he’ll have something to really scream about soon enough.”

Blaise was suddenly glad he had stunned his friend back down. It might set back his recovery, but better that than to be tortured again immediately. He might never recover from that.

“It appears he was having some sort of sleeping terror. Perhaps a memory of what happened. He’s still out.”

“When will he wake up?” Dolohov demanded.

“If I knew, I wouldn’t have to babysit him so much. Please send someone to inform our illustrious hostess that her son screamed briefly. It will be my head if she doesn’t know every whimper.” Blaise put on a great show of rolling his eyes and acting disgusted. He had put a lot of effort into convincing everyone that he and Draco had a falling out in their friendship some time ago, that he was only attentive because the Malfoys paid him generously to be so.

Dolohov and the other guards, lesser Death Eaters, grumbled but pulled back into the hall, dropping the door behind them. 

Blaise breathed out a sigh of relief. Informing Narcissa meant she would be here momentarily. He should probably ennervate Draco immediately, but he didn’t want to until he had Draco’s mother inside a muffling spell with them. His efforts to throw off the guards would do no good if she blew it by gushing about her baby being awake.

When the guards let the immaculate woman through a few minutes later, Blaise bowed to her and kissed her hand in greeting. “Mrs. Malfoy, your son recently screamed. I believe it was a sleeping terror of some sort. It hasn’t changed his diagnostics in any way.”

Narcissa looked immediately distressed. “I had hoped it might show he is closer to waking.”

“Unfortunately, my lady, the diagnostics aren’t able to tell us that. It is possible this is a sign he will be waking soon, but all we can do is wait.” Blaise was overly aware that the guards hadn’t closed the doors after letting her in and were avidly listening to the conversation. With his eyes and a tiny gesture of his hand, Blaise let Narcissa know that the doors needed to be closed.

She dropped suddenly in an anguished heap on the ground, crying prettily. Blaise rushed to her side. “I just...I can’t stand to think what if he doesn’t wake up, Healer Zabini!?” she wailed. Blaise began murmuring healer nonsense about the patient until he heard snickering from the door.

Narcissa was suddenly up off the floor, her face flushed with tears, “Antonin Dolohov!” she screeched his name angrily. “You will not stand in my home and make fun of my worries. He is my only son!” She put on a beautiful show, passionate and dramatic, furious when they laughed in her face. Finally, she yelled, “Stay out of my son’s room,” slamming the doors shut with her magic and locking them in one fell swoop. 

The wards slammed into place with the locking of the doors. Blaise added a special spell Theo had taught him, to make “regular” room sounds in the wards so that it wasn’t obvious they were silenced. Turning to Narcissa, Blaise heaved a sigh of relief, “He was awake.” 

She gasped, a tentative smile breaking through, “What happened?”

“He woke screaming. When they started to burst into the room, I stunned him back down. I can’t be certain what they’re waiting outside his room for, but I suspect it is nothing good.”

Narcissa nodded, “They want him blamed for Theo’s disappearance.”

Blaise paled. “I thought everyone was punished for that a couple of days ago. There were so many wounded. Drake had been out for 5 days then. How the bloody hell can it be his fault?”

“It was his idea, you know. He convinced Lucius the prisoners would be safer at Nott Manor with Theo even before his father could be there.” Her tone turned to disgust as she continued, “Lucius told our Lord so when...it looked like he might personally be singled out for more punishment.” She choked up, “I honestly don’t know if Draco had anything to do with it or not. Lucius....he could have just said that.”

“I’m not sure what the point would have been. Drake couldn’t have known the Order would get in here and have someone tell them where the other prisoners had been taken. And besides, the Order taking a prisoner can’t have been his fault.”

“You know the Dark Lord still hasn’t forgiven him for losing Miss Granger. And for being unable to track her down.” Narcissa looked even more worried. “I don’t believe he trusts that Draco is on his side any longer. I fear what that means for him.”

“For your whole family,” Blaise whispered. 

Narcissa shrugged. “I would gladly trade myself for him if he would just go.”

Blaise sighed. They were both too stubborn for that. “It’s time I try to wake him.”

OooOooOooOooOooOooOooO

The sky rumbled again and the rain poured down around them. Ron was pacing back and forth in front of the magical cart they had loaded and ready for their mission. Finian was trying to talk some sense into him, that this just wasn’t the right time, the right conditions, to find Professor McGonagall. She was in one of the better positions as far as likelihood of being unharmed, so another day wouldn’t hurt.

Harry appreciated the calm capabilities of their new member. The man was like a tranquil lake in the midst of chaos. Finian had told them that he had to be, to survive surrounded by Death Eaters. Harry felt that he must have had some natural inclination toward peacefulness to begin with, but the young man had no intention of accepting praise like that from the Chosen One. That was the one thing Harry didn’t like about the guy. Fin definitely hero worshipped him, even when Harry repeatedly pointed out that Voldemort got away.

Right now, Harry knew he was distracting himself thinking about Finian. He was really as frustrated as Ron, but trying not to lose it. He had a hard time admitting to himself just how much more than a teacher Professor McGonagall was to him. It was still confusing. Was she a mother figure? A friend? Did his respect for her just make her a little more special than the other Professors? He wasn’t certain. She was not someone he could justify leaving as a captive, that was for sure.

Yet, the storm was raging. No one, not even a family as stupid as the Crabbes, would believe a random bakery delivery on a day like today. They had discussed saying it was from the Dark Lord for a banquet that evening at their home, but then the servants might actually alert someone and contact other Death Eaters for confirmation. That wouldn’t be helpful at all. 

Harry shook his head. “Ron, we’ve got to give it up for today. You know I don’t want to either, but we can’t help her in this, mate. I bet you could come up with a clever storm plan, but tonight’s not the right time.”

Ron glowered at him, but nodded. 

“I’ve got a bottle of firewhiskey in my room. Let’s go have a little and forget about this day.”

Ron started to shake his head. “Gotta make a report.”

“No, you go on with Fin,” Harry told his best friend. “I’ll handle the report.” He wanted to spend some extra time with Ginny tonight while he had it. There were a number of information-gathering missions going on and she was supposed to be leaving on one tomorrow. Technically, he wasn’t supposed to know about other people’s missions, what they were doing, but he didn’t know exactly. 

Giving the report hadn’t taken long, but the dressing down from Kingsley over going to Headmistress Sprout about their prisoner problem had taken a bit longer. Harry was still glad he had tried. For the moment, the compromise the two adults in charge had come to was that Theo was locked in a perfectly nice bedroom with a proper loo and with house elves bringing his meals. There were lights he could turn on and even a few books to read. He would be ok until the next Order meeting.

Harry could be happy now with Ginny wrapped in his arms. She had flung herself at him as soon as he walked through the common room door. All the young Gryffindors, past and present, were staying there. It was made for it, after all, and the tower had been one of the first areas restored. It had fortunately not been strongly harmed. 

There were moments when Harry felt incredibly guilty about how things stood with Ginny. He kept telling her that his task wasn’t complete and he couldn’t let her pin her future on him until it was done. Ginny told him she would bat bogey hex him if he didn’t shut up about it already. So now they were...something. They spent every spare moment together. Harry loved the innocent touches they shared, and the not-so-innocent ones they slipped in when they could get a minute alone, but those minutes were few in a castle full of peers and ever vigilant adults.

With Ron out of the room he and Harry shared, this could be a very nice chunk of alone time. Hopefully Fin would keep Ginny’s brother busy for a very long time. 

Harry pulled her into the room, both of them laughing over how oblivious Ron could be. As soon as they were out of the hallway, Harry caught her laughing lips with his, darting his tongue into her mouth before she could close it in surprise. Ginny’s laughter quickly turned to an appreciative hum as she kissed him back with enthusiasm.

Harry ran his hands up her sides. He loved how muscular she was despite her smaller stature. She was by no means short, but she wasn’t abnormally tall and scrawny like most of her brothers, leaving Harry a good few inches taller. He felt Ginny’s arms go around his neck, her hands playing in his wild hair.

As they snogged, Harry was slowly backing Ginny toward the bed when she surprised him by spinning around him, shoving him playfully down onto the bed, and throwing herself half beside him and half on top of him. Harry was absolutely not complaining. They were fighting for dominance, both laughing and pushing the other back and forth when Harry decided he was going to win this time. Still rubbing up her sides, he made sure to snag the material of her shirt and pull it up as well, almost to the bottom of her breasts. Then, completely innocently, of course, Harry’s hands slid sideways. He brushed just under her breasts over and over until Ginny impatiently brought his hand under the rest of her shirt to fully hold her bare breasts. She hadn’t bothered to wear a bra today. She often didn’t, yet her breasts were still pert and perfect. He had a handful right now, so he was quite certain he could report that accurately.

Ginny was purring beside him, and allowed him to roll mostly on top of her. He knew she must feel how hard he was, pressing so close against her, but he wasn’t even embarrassed by it anymore. She seemed to relish the feel of it, since she nudged her body harder against him there, making Harry groan. Ginny giggled in return and began kissing down his neck, feeling for the bottom of his shirt so that she could rip it off of him, which she managed moments later.

While his hand switched to her other breast, Harry’s other hand trailed down to her thigh. Ginny was wearing a skirt today, which he was ready to use to his advantage. He began letting his hand slide up under her skirt until he touched her damp knickers and ran his fingers up, down, and around the growing wet patch. She was panting now, and he repeated the motions that got the biggest reaction from her. She reached down and put a hand on his aching hard cock, rubbing it through his pants. When Harry could breathe enough to do so, he hooked a finger around the side of Ginny’s knickers and began to pull them to the side, his fingers stroking her slowly.

“OI! Get off my sister!” Ron shouted as he stared at them incredulously from the doorway. 

OooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooO

Draco was on his broom again. He was trying to outfly the Death Eaters chasing him. The magic was singing to him, that pathway of shimmering gold that would bring him home, but he couldn’t follow it. It would be safety. It would be the best plan, the surest path of survival. But something inside him said it was no longer his path. He had to survive somehow in the darkness. He suddenly realized he couldn’t see the Death Eaters anymore. He was on his broom in a nowhere of blackness. Pure dark in every direction, pulling at him, trying to eat away at what little brightness remained of him. Darkness ate everything.

Draco woke up panting but managed to hold back the scream. This time, too, he was able to orient himself and not get knocked back out. His eyes were greeted with the sight of his mother and best friend staring at him with worried expressions. His head was pounding and his stomach felt empty, but nothing intense enough for those expressions.

“What happened now?” he asked. 

Narcissa and Blaise exchanged a look. “What’s the last thing you remember?” Blaise asked.

It took Draco a minute to remember much of anything. “Voldemort and pain, mostly,” he responded, “because of Granger’s escape, I assume.”

“That,” Blaise nodded, “and the Order breaking in later that day and breaking Longbottom free.”

“He tortured me for that?” 

“He tortured everyone for that. I even got in on that one,” Blaise said, with Narcissa confirming as well, “but you and Bellatrix received special punishment. And then Greyback was rewarded for catching a rogue auror. What he wanted was you.”

What little color Draco had in his cheeks drained out and his eyes were huge. He was seconds from ripping his clothes off and checking his body when his mother reassured him, “He didn’t bite you, my darling. Or do anything....repulsive,” Blaise snorted behind her, that she could live with the Dark Lord, witness all his atrocities, and still just call rape something ‘repulsive.’

Blaise cut in, “They - Greyback and all his friends - beat you until you were a bloody pulp on the floor. I honestly didn’t know if there was enough of you left to bring back, Drake.”

Narcissa was crying at the memory. Draco reached a hand out for her. Even with his pounding head, he felt well enough that it was hard to relate to what they were telling him. “I’m feeling pretty good, Blaise. You must be getting better at this healing stuff.”

Blaise rolled his eyes. “Learning all the time, thank you, but a solid week is helpful for that level of damage, too.”

“What!? I’ve been out for a week?” Draco asked, astounded. He had a hard time healing from some of their Lord’s attacks on him before, even from some of his father’s more intense punishments, but he had never lost consciousness for more than a day or two at most. While he took a moment to process, Blaise began running diagnostics again. A moment later, he handed Draco a pain potion, “For your head.”

Draco nodded his thanks, appreciating that he hadn’t needed to ask. Blaise really was an excellent healer, for all that he had been awful at first. Needs had won out for him once they were thoroughly entrenched with the Death Eaters.

“Son,” Narcissa began, “a lot has happened in that week. Your father says it was your idea to move the prisoners to Nott Manor - a wise idea or they would have been here when the Order broke in.”

“What? I didn’t say anything about what to do with them, just that I thought it was too obvious we would keep them here. I was thinking it also made them too easy to access for the Revels. They’re too important to be used up that way. And when I said that, I was hoping they would take Granger away, too. That was before I had to fight those three for her.”

Blaise and Narcissa exchanged a look. “Well, they were taken to Nott Manor, just being held by Theo and a bunch of lesser guards.” Blaise explained, his tone cautious. Draco had a feeling whatever came next was going to upset him. “Two days ago, all the guards were found poisoned, most of them dead and the handful still alive completely unconscious.”

“No! Theo!” Draco cried. Theo didn’t want to follow in his father’s footsteps. He hated the man. He could easily have fled to another country if it hadn’t been for Draco and Blaise staying. “He stayed for us, Blaise! He stayed for us and look what happened to him.”

Narcissa was trying to hush him, but Draco was nearly in hysterics at the loss of such an old and true friend. Blaise finally grabbed him by his shoulders and forced their eyes to meet. “We don’t know what happened to him. The guards were taken down and the prisoners are gone, but Theo wasn’t there either. His room is wrecked, and several all around it. It looks like there was a fight, like he may have been taken. No one knows what happened. The ministry Aurors, the ones loyal to us, can’t figure it out. No force seems to have been used anywhere except Theo’s suite.”

Draco was taking in deep gulps of air. “So....so you’re saying he could have left instead?” The thought hurt, but Theo had been split up from the two of them for some time. He was often sent to do nasty, cruel work. It went against Theo’s intellect and his nature. Plus he hadn’t been marked yet but would be soon. If he had escaped before that, fled the country like he should have in the first place, Draco was proud of him for finding the strength to go. He just wished he knew for sure.

“That’s not all, Drake. The Dark Lord wants to blame you for all of it - the prisoners’ escape, the dead guards, Theo missing.”

Draco dropped his head into his hands. “I wasn’t even awake for it.”

“I think that’s part of the fun,” Blaise said darkly. His voice was even lower than normal, reminding Draco of the way darkness had been ripping away at him in his dream, draining out all the color until there would be nothing but dark.

“Can we go yet, Mother?” he asked wearily.

Narcissa looked, for the first time, like she might break. She wrung her hands before finally answering, “You know I won’t go without your father, Draco. Talk to him, man to man. He might see reason.” 

He shook his head at her. Perhaps at the beginning of this, he might have considered leaving, but Lucius was in too deep now. Draco personally thought that the man’s beliefs on the matter also would have made it an impossibility then, but it was too far in the past to know. Draco’s mind was whirring with things he could have done differently. In the end, though, he knew none of it had mattered. He had been marked for death since his father failed their master at the end of his fifth year. Fifth year. And this was just the end of his last year. He should be sitting for NEWTs soon, not wondering if he would live through tonight. The Dark Lord had ruined everything he thought his life could be. 

Draco almost laughed at that thought. A few short months ago, he would have blamed it all on mudbloods and everyone trying to pull the Malfoy family down. He had always been told they were wizarding royalty, that they had even consorted with muggle royals once upon a time, and only chosen to step away from them when they were sickened by their inferior ways. His father had always blamed any troubles they might have on those pathetic muggles and the mudbloods who stole away their magic and wanted to do away with all of the old magic ways. Draco suddenly found himself wondering how such inferior beings were supposed to be capable of bringing down such a powerful family as his. He shook the thought away and tried to focus on what to do now. 

“Why hasn’t he just killed me already?” Draco wondered aloud. Narcissa burst into real sobs. Blaise looked grim. Draco looked at his friend, “It’s coming isn’t it?”

His low voice rumbled, “I don’t see how you can keep living through all of this. For whatever reason, he wants you to keep playing the scapegoat.”

Draco gave Blaise a long look and put his hand on his shoulder. “I don’t want you caught up in this. If they do that again, I want you to stop patching me up, Blaise.”

“Draco, NO!” his mother cried.

“You listen to me, Mother. They’re out to get me. You know they are. I’m not going to survive much longer. I don’t even want to survive anymore.” He felt so empty anyway. There was a far off ache in his magic, his soul. He couldn’t explain it to himself much less her. He was just tired and unable to fight anymore. He had done what he needed to do for Hermione but he couldn’t go through all of this alone. He wasn’t even sure what that thought meant, but it was there. “Father will protect you and it will be easier for him without me around. I’m letting go.” Turning again to Blaise, Draco met his eyes, “Blaise, promise me you’ll get out of here once I’m gone. Find Theo and get the hell away from this war.”

Blaise set his mouth in a grim line, “How can I…”

Draco cut him off, “Just promise me. You can’t hide that I’m awake and you know what’s going to happen when you tell them.”

With a tight nod, Blaise agreed, tears in his eyes. 

“Good. Let them know I’m awake.”


	14. Lord Malfoy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My wonderful beta, @highlyintelligentblonde, is such a help and cheerleader for me on this. 
> 
> Let's see, the warnings for this chapter are sexual slavery, torture, and character death. I'm sorry, folks.
> 
> I still don't own Harry Potter.

Monday, May 11, 1998; evening

Tonks was standing next to her captor. He loved to force her to stand while he sat, but after her Auror training, it wasn’t actually that difficult for her and it gave her a better view for most things. The only thing she didn’t like about it, well, almost the only thing: she really hated the collar around her neck with his name engraved on it. He even had a dainty little “leash” on it tonight, which she found degrading and disgusting. But the only other thing she really didn’t like about standing there was just that; in the gigantic dining room full of sitting people, she was easy to see. Standing out was a terrible idea in a room with old Voldy. 

She had made her hair a mousy brown, her face unremarkable. She knew there would be some form of punishment for it later. Master Rowle, as he insisted on being called despite being barely older than her, hated it when she changed to a normal face in public when all she would give him privately was the most hideous face she could manage. It delighted Tonks to irritate him that way. You had to find some fun somewhere.

There certainly wasn’t going to be any of it here tonight. The Malfoys had a grand dinner out on the table, but it was nearly forgotten now. Antonin Dolohov had just come in and thrown the Malfoy scion to the floor in front of Lord Voldemort. Tonks had never met the boy who was her only cousin. It didn’t look like she was going to get the opportunity before he died. He was shaking, crying, and kissing the hem of his Lord’s robes. With most of the Death Eaters, that would disgust her, but this was just a kid. She felt sorry for him. 

Travers dragged his mother in now, Lucius standing to take her and bring her to her place at the table. It was interesting to watch the small confrontation when Travers refused to release her to her husband. 

“Ah, Lucius,” Lord Voldemort addressed him, “my slippery servant. What exactly are you trying to do?”

Lucius paled. “I thought to seat my wife at my left hand as is proper, my lord.”

“Did you think I had not noticed your family’s absence?”

“I knew you had seen it, my lord. I only hoped you might grant mercy. Our son, as you know, has been very ill. His mother has worried, perhaps more than she ought to be.”

“Indeed. So you still claim this useless brat as your son?”

“I...his mother is still quite attached to him, I’m afraid.”

The Dark Lord hummed in displeasure. “You are so enamored with your helpless wife that you accept this man who let his own wife escape and then orchestrated the escape of many more prisoners, the death of 19 recruits, and the capture or death of the sole heir of Nott house?” 

The Malfoy boy laying on the floor was panting. Tonks recognized signs of a panic attack, but there was nothing to be done for him. He seemed to be fighting it as well as he could. She was relatively certain he had no say in any of what he had just been accused of. 

Before Lord Malfoy could respond, there was a soft bark of laughter from the back. Tonks realized it was Nott, Sr. speaking, “Good riddance to the useless, snivelling wretch. Wouldn’t have ever wanted him representing Nott house anyway. I’ll need a wife to make a new whelp, but that can easily be found.”

Lord Voldemort laughed at that, “Perhaps you should talk to Parkinson. I believe he had a rebellious daughter to get rid of.” Everyone laughed before the Dark Lord went on, “Now, Lucius, I would hear your answer.”

The man who used to seem so commanding almost shrunk in on himself, “My lord, since his wife did escape, I’m still without an heir.”

Lord Voldemort angrily replied. “Again, Lucius, dead men don’t need heirs. Who would you have me torture and kill tonight - the brat or your dear Narcissa?”

Lucius looked stricken. All color drained out of him and he closed his eyes before saying, “Draco. Kill him. He is my son no longer.” The boy on the floor whimpered, but Tonks could see his liquid silver eyes and could tell he had already known this was coming.

“I’m so glad you’ve finally made a choice, my servant. Sit down so you may watch with the others.” Turning back to his meal, he called, “Dolohov, get that garbage out of my sight, down near the end of the table somewhere,” Lord Voldemort indicated young Draco. “Travers, bring Narcissa here. I think it is high time we be done with this little family.”

“No!” Draco let out an anguished cry as Dolohov began dragging him across the tiled floor, “Lucius said me! Torture me. Kill me! Leave mother alone! Please!”

The Dark Lord laughed, cast crucio on Narcissa, and began eating his dinner. “Someone silence the garbage,” he mentioned casually, as though it were normal dinner conversation.

Tonks was sickened that everyone began eating dinner while Narcissa screamed on the floor next to Voldemort. She wondered if he intended to torture her into complete insanity like the Longbottoms. After he chewed a few slow bites, though, he let up and she collapsed crying on the floor. Lucius started to stand, but the Dark Lord pinned him with his beady red eyes. “She is no longer your concern, Lucius.” He turned to his right and began talking softly with Rodolphus and Bellatrix. Tonks felt sickened. Nothing good could come of that.

Looking at Bellatrix brought a sudden jolt of recognition. On the floor next to her was a muscular young man with curly red hair, completely nude, with a collar much more elaborate than the one Tonks was forced to wear. She knew Charlie Weasley anywhere. She hadn’t known he was a prisoner here, too. Or maybe she had known at some point before her latest obliviation. Who knew? She wasn’t even sure how long she had been here. She wondered if they had been together when they were captured or if her old friend had been here even longer than she had. They had been in the same year at Hogwarts. She had even had a crush on him at one time. And sweet Merlin he was worthy of a crush now. I may be married, but I have eyes, she thought. Still, Tonks felt dirty looking at him considering how many of the Death Eaters within view of him were leering - male and female alike. It gave her chills to see how exposed he was.

She lost her train of thought as Bellatrix stood from the table. She picked something up and placed it in Charlie’s mouth. Tonks had to strain to hear her command, “Come, my pet, I have a job to do and you will assist me.” When she yanked on the chain leading to his collar, he had no choice but to follow, on all fours, or be dragged across the floor by his neck. 

Bellatrix practically danced over to the heap on the floor that was her little sister. She walked around her speculatively. “Who would have ever believed you would become a blood traitor, Cissy? Mother and Father would be disgusted by you. All for the love of your precious little son,” she mocked.

Turning to Charlie, she said, “Stand and give me the knife, pet.” He very carefully stood up and put his head forward so she could take it from his mouth. “Isn’t it nice for one blood traitor to help me torture another?” The room exploded in laughter. To Charlie she said, “Now, back up a bit, lace your hands behind your neck, and feet apart.” He closed his eyes, his cheeks flaming, but obeyed. “Eyes open!” she snapped at him. She kicked his feet a little farther apart, then turned to her sister and ignored him.

Giggling, she began running the knife over her sister, carving words into her body. Narcissa’s screams were even more pained than they had been under the cruciatus. At the back of the table, there was a commotion. Goyle, Sr was restraining the youngest Malfoy as he tried to fight through and get to her.

Lucius suddenly could take no more and stood up. “My lord, please! Cissy is not a blood traitor. She did nothing wrong. It was all that boy! Torture him this way, but let me take my wife up to her bed before this gets any more out of hand.”

Lord Voldemort laughed, “Oh Lucius. This is far out of your hands.” He motioned to Travers and Rookwood, both sitting nearby. They stood and grabbed Lucius by the arms, pulling him forward. “Goyle, please bring the garbage back up here.” Tonks felt dread pooling in her belly. This was going to be the end for the Malfoys, for sure. Bellatrix was still gleefully cutting up her sister. Both Malfoy men had been taken up close enough to see exactly what was happening to Narcissa, but not close enough to do anything about it.

The Dark Lord smiled at them both, an evil smirk on his face. He asked, “Draco, my boy, would you like for your mother to live?” He waved his hand to allow the boy to speak.

“Yes, my lord. Please. I’ll do anything you want me…”

“Shut up! Your snivelling offends my ears,” he said. Grinning around at his Death Eaters, he looked to Goyle who was still holding Draco back. “Goyle, give the boy your wand and let him go.” 

Everyone reacted with shock. Everything was suddenly silent except for Narcissa’s tapering screams. Bellatrix had stopped her ministrations for the moment, watching this new scene unfold. Goyle reluctantly let go of the boy and handed him his wand. Draco took it gingerly, but seemed to acclimate to it without too much trouble. Still, Tonks could see his true emotions by the way the wand was shaking. Whatever Voldemort was about to ask of him would undoubtedly be harsh. 

“Now. All you have to do to keep your mother alive is to kill Lucius. It doesn’t even have to be through torture. Just avada him. Right now.”

Draco turned to his father. He looked completely lost for a moment, tears running down his cheeks. Then he took a look at his mother, laying at her sister’s feet and viciously shaking her head no. Draco closed his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them, the liquid silver had been replaced by steel grey. He brought his wand arm up steadily. His mother screamed, “No, Draco! He is your father. Let me die instead!” but he ignored her, staring at Lucius. 

His father glared at him, “Don’t you dare. You’ve never been more than a useless brat. I know you can’t kill your own father.”

“You are no father of mine. Avada Kedavra.”

As soon as the deed was done, the wand clattered to the floor. The boy was shaking like a leaf. Tonks couldn’t imagine what that had done to him. 

Narcissa was screaming, “NOOOO! You monster! You killed your own father, you...you evil piece of trash. You are not my son!” Her words dissolved into an anguished wailing, crying Lucius’ name over and over.

Tonks hadn’t thought she could be shocked by anything that happened here, but the words Narcissa had just spoken and the utter devastation on young Draco’s face had done it.

Voldemort, finished with his meal, stood up. “Lord Malfoy,” he addressed Draco, “Take your seat at the table and eat your dinner like a good little boy. If you would like for your mother to continue living, you will not move from that spot or say one word until you are given permission.” The seat he indicated had been the boy’s father’s. The half-eaten plate of food had been piled high by his father. He had to walk past his father’s body to get there. Tonks could see him shuddering, trying to hold back a sob. 

“Now, Narcissa. It appears you are no longer the lady of this fine house. I’m not sure what use you could be to me. Perhaps someone else, someone like Fenrir, might have ideas about what to do with you.” Narcissa was weeping so hard for her dead husband that she didn’t even react to that suggestion. Draco did, jerking his eyes up to their Lord, but his mother didn’t seem to care. Voldy looked a little ticked off about that. She was clearly supposed to be frightened. Disgruntled, the Dark Lord looked down the table, “Dolohov. You have been a loyal servant. Would you like a wife?”

The man had a wicked smile. “Of course, my Lord, if you see fit to give me one.”

“Will you take her even though she is a marked blood traitor? Will you beat that out of her? Control her properly?”

“Oh yes, my Lord.”

Tonks observed the utterly stunned expression of Narcissa’s son. He was barely holding himself together. She could tell he had somehow thought that if he did what the Dark Lord wanted, he and his mother could continue the lives they had led. He hadn’t thought through the implications of what Voldemort might do with them.

“We shall have your wedding in 3 days, to give you both time to prepare.” Lord Voldemort laughed. “Now, Lord Malfoy….” he got no further because Bellatrix was cackling behind him, approaching her “pet” with the knife to begin carving into him. Charlie’s face was set, his mouth in a determined line. Tonks knew him. He would not move or cry out if he could stand it.

Surprisingly, the Dark Lord’s voice rang out, “No, my Bellatrix darling.” 

The deranged witch turned to stare at him with rounded eyes. 

“That is a tasty morsel you have there and if you’re going to blemish it, I’ll have to give it to someone else.” The Dark Lord began walking toward the little scene.

Tonks felt herself bristle at him referring to her friend as though he were an object instead of a person, but she knew if that and embarrassment were the worst things that happened to him tonight, Charlie would be very lucky. She shuddered for him when Voldemort walked up to the man and ran his fingers all the way down his body. To his credit, Charlie didn’t move, didn’t even flinch. “A very impressive specimen,” the Dark Lord stated with a disturbing smile. As he moved back toward Draco, Tonks noticed the look Bellatrix gave her pet. Charlie would pay for that, but at least whatever she did to him couldn’t leave permanent “blemishes.”

“Mr. Malfoy,” Voldemort went on, “I have a way for you to rejoin my ranks at a beginner’s standing. After the wedding, you will reset the wards on this manor. You will hand them over to me and then I will allow you among my Death Eaters once more. Until then, Goyle - lock the brat in his room. Draco, dear, while she no longer claims you as her son, do remember that your mother will pay for anything that doesn’t please me.”

Goyle hustled the boy out. Tonks hoped that was all the entertainment for the evening. She had seen as much as she thought she could handle. As she watched the front for any more drama, Charlie suddenly looked up and met her eyes. He blushed again, but gave a slight nod. He knew she was there, too. Neither of them were alone in this.

Thorfinn picked that moment to jerk on her leash. Tonks met his eyes. She wasn’t very good at the submissive, eyes on the ground thing. He looked furious. He had undoubtedly seen her looking at Charlie and misinterpreted it. Rowle had been a few years ahead of them at Hogwarts. He had always wanted Tonks, and had always been jealous of her entourage of friends, especially the male ones. This night was going to be far longer than she wanted it to be. She just had to keep going. Somewhere out there, she knew Teddy was with her mother and hopefully Remus too. There had to be a way out of this eventually. She just had to hold on until then and try to stay out of Voldy’s sight.


	15. Complications

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: Torture
> 
> I still don't own Harry Potter.

Thursday, May 13, 1998; morning

Ron was irritated. It had been days since the last meeting, the longest gap since the Battle of Hogwarts, and there was still so much to accomplish. There had been some terrible weather to endure, then a couple of intense days of funerals. Fred’s had been the first morning so that Ginny could leave directly afterward on some sort of covert mission. Ron wasn’t privy to those. He had been too busy with the funerals, a task he found useless but somehow necessary for most. The bodies needed to go into the ground, too. They couldn’t be held in stasis forever. Or maybe they could, but he didn’t want to contemplate it. So he made time for funerals.

There were so many things they didn’t have time for as it was. They still hadn’t managed the mission to rescue McGonagall and Tonks, Charlie, and Hermione were still in Death Eater hands. Ron felt stir crazy just sitting around watching people say goodbye to their loved ones knowing that the longer they waited the more funerals there would be. Now they were finally in a meeting but everyone was just wasting time arguing over what to do with the stupid Death Eater. The weedy boy with his wavy, dark brown hair and sapphire eyes was standing at the front of the room looking bored as everyone’s hate hit him and just rolled off. 

“He can live in my chambers,” Snape offered. That just caused another uproar. Just because Voldy tried to kill him, didn’t make him a good guy. Ron was sick of people trying to make excuses for the biggest bully the Hogwarts schoolchildren had to deal with everyday. Plus he was a Death Eater and Dumbledore’s murderer.

“Why don’t they live together in a cell? Goyle, too,” Ron called out. Everywhere around him, people spoke in agreement. Only Harry turned to give him a harsh look. Ron didn’t get why Harry had such a soft spot for these gits. So Snape had loved his mum and been a double agent all that time. He still treated Harry like dung all through school. And that Theo - he had handed over the prisoners and himself, but he was up to something. He was a Slytherin and this was war. They couldn’t afford to risk trusting him. Ron wanted them all locked up and he wanted Harry to stop trying to help them while their own people suffered. 

Kingsley cleared his throat and waited for quiet. “I am aware that their previous affiliations make them suspect, but they have each done things to redeem themselves and have made a pledge to the Order. In good conscience, I cannot lock them up. I do agree that our headquarters is perhaps not the best place for them, but other arrangements have not been possible yet.”

“Why can’t they just keep to their rooms until there’s some other place to put them?” Seamus asked.

“Because I want to do something to help,” Theo broke in. It was the first thing he had said since he arrived. He shoved his hands into his pockets after he said it. Ron had a feeling it was so that he didn’t fidget. Hard to maintain the cool facade if you’re nervous.

Remus spoke then, his voice hard, “What do you know of the other prisoners? Where is my wife?”

Theo blanched and swallowed hard. “I don’t know. I was already on my way home when she was taken prisoner. They’re not big on communication with underlings.” Remus looked ready to jump across the table at him. 

“You expect us to believe that the heir to one of the sacred twenty-eight is an underling?” Ron snarled. He couldn’t believe they were letting this piece of trash talk.

Theo looked angry. “You know nothing of me except my title. I can’t keep you from judging me on it, but I will take veritaserum if you need to verify that I know nothing about Lady Lupin.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, there was a smattering of laughter around the room. No one had ever called Tonks by Remus’ last name. And the thought of her as a Lady was hilarious.

Ron was irate that they weren’t focusing. “Where’s Hermione?” he demanded. 

Surprisingly, Theo was suddenly hiding behind his blank, bored face again. “She’s not there. I don’t know where she is.”

“Do you mean whoever she was given to took her home?” Ron practically spat the words. Theo’s mouth went into a firm line and he didn’t answer.

Harry was the one who spoke up. “Wait! Someone had escaped earlier that day. It was her, wasn’t it?”

Theo looked conflicted for a moment before inclining his head. “I cannot be sure, but I believe so. I was out of the manor by then.”

“Why would you tell us she’s not there if you aren’t sure?” Harry asked with some confusion and a hint of doubt.

Theo stumbled over his words. “I...I know who she was given to, and I know there was a plan to get her out.”

“Then where is she?” Ron shouted. He was done with this. “Why isn’t she here?”

“I don’t know,” Theo responded. “Does she know where ‘here’ is? The prisoners were kept in the dark. The Dark Lord doesn’t want anyone remembering anything about headquarters or how they got there. All the prisoners and some of the guards are obliviated regularly. The last thing she would remember might be the battle itself. She wouldn’t even know how it ended.”

There was silence as the entire room absorbed that. 

“You know I didn’t remember all that much and I had been there far longer,” a new voice said - Finian. The muggleborn had been with the Death Eaters for a couple of years before the raid. He was only able to tell them what had happened since that morning because there must have been some sort of Revel the night before. It had been pure luck that Crabbe had a gleeful conversation about taking McGonagall home to be his wife’s maid right in front of Fin that very morning. “Even if this Hermione felt like she could go to St. Mungo’s or wherever to get her memories back, the repeated memory charms make it nearly impossible to get anything back without losing your mind. At least that’s what the healer lady told me.” He nodded to Madam Pomfrey and she silently agreed with him.

Harry stood, “We have to find her! We should check the places she would know - Grimmauld, the Burrow, Shell Cottage, maybe some of the places we camped this last year.” He started to head for the door when Mr. Weasley caught his arm. 

“Son, you can’t just go running off looking for a kettle in a haystack. Grimmauld Place is compromised. The Burrow is still a burnt out shell. The cottage might be a real possibility and I think Fleur is nearly ready to travel home anyway. Let her and Bill check there when they go.”

Remus added, “Hermione is smart, probably smarter than anyone here. She’ll find a way to contact or find us. If she hasn’t yet, then we must assume she is being cautious for a reason.”

Harry still looked like he might rush out the door. “Let’s send her a patronus.” He brandished his wand and called out his stag.

“No!” Mr. Weasley said, pulling the boy’s wand arm down. “Harry, she may be with muggles or somewhere in danger.”

The stag evaporated, and Harry sunk into a chair between the Weasley parents. Molly had moved over so she could hug him as he sniffled. Ron knew Harry was beside himself about the girl he considered a sister.

Trying to get the meeting back on track, Ron called out, “So what are we doing with the Death Eater git? We’ve got more important things to talk about.”

Kingsley looked conflicted for a second, then leveled his resolution. “The two boys in question, Theodore Nott, Jr. and Gregory Goyle, Jr, will be placed back in their rooms and locked in until we are able to move them to a safe house. Severus Snape will also…”

“No,” a quiet voice interrupted. Everyone gasped that Madam Pomfrey had spoken in a meeting. She never ventured opinions unless asked and never interrupted the powers in the room. “No. I need Severus to help with all the potions. There is a lab directly off the hospital wing with its own living quarters. We have been setting it up for him. I will not have him locked away when we have use for him. The Goyle boy, too, has been very helpful. But I will be content with Severus if you seriously believe the child must be punished.”

It was quiet for a moment before Kingsley asked, “Are you willing then, Poppy, to be responsible for Snape?” 

“Of course.” Her tone made it clear he was being ridiculous.

Kingsley nodded and motioned for Theo to have a seat next to his former potions professor and sole Slytherin friend.

“With that settled,” Kingsley continued, “we need to discuss the continued rebuilding of the castle.” Many voices agreed. The small portion that was put back together was getting crowded. They needed to expand, not to mention the mental relief of having the castle whole again.

Headmistress Sprout stood, “It’s more complicated than just building,” she stated matter-of-factly. “When the founders built the castle, they wove wards into its very structure. To maintain and even upgrade the security here, we believe this needs to be done once more. We just have to figure out how.”

“We need Hermione,” Ron muttered. Harry’s face fell as he nodded. How were they going to make it through this all without her?

“You know I have experience with warding, though never quite like this,” Bill said. “It might help for me to look at some of the walls that are intact.”

“That’s a good idea,” Kingsley agreed. “Does anyone else have particular experience with wards?”

No one spoke for a moment, until a tentative voice spoke out, “Wards are something of a specialty of mine.”

Everyone turned to look. There were several gasps when people began to realize it was Theo who had offered. 

“Bloody hell!” Ron fumed, “No one would trust a ward that arsehole made, even if he could do it.” The room broke out in chatter as most everyone agreed with Ron while a handful argued back - Harry, of course, and Luna as well as a few others.

With his calm but carrying voice, Remus broke through the chaos, “I think it would be best if Bill handles this alone until some additional expert is found.”

“I will of course continue to look at the founders’ journals and consult with Headmaster Dumbledore’s portrait. I have faith we will find the safest way forward.”

Before anyone could comment, Kingsley moved on, “The next order of business is that we have a new tactician in charge of raids and battle plans.”

Ron felt fury rage through him again. How dare they go and find someone else to mess everything up!? His entire body was turning so red it was almost purple when Kingsley continued, “Ronald Weasley is now the General of our army, such that it is.” Ron was stunned. His mouth hung open as the people around him patted his shoulders and cheered for him. 

“Now,” Kingsley said smoothly, “I need everyone to leave the room, it’s time for General Weasley and I to go over the upcoming raids and plans.”

***************************************************

Thursday, May 13, 1998; evening

Hermione dropped onto the bed in their tent, utterly exhausted. It had been five days since the Death Eaters found her in Paris. After two more close calls in small villages, she had retreated to the Forest of Dean and set up camp. It felt odd to be in the tent without her boys. It felt even odder to have Mimsy constantly fussing over her when she was home, making mint tea and a variety of soups. It seemed the little elf could make a gourmet soup out of literally anything Hermione brought home. 

During each day, she was picking up work here and there. Since they weren’t staying in hotels, it wasn’t strictly necessary and perhaps risky, but she had to scope out bars to meet in and staying in the tent all day would drive her mad. Today, Hermione had worked in Lydney at a little pub called Nags Head Inn. She had glamoured herself as a buxom blond and walked away with quite a bit more money in her pocket than usual. She would have to remember that trick. The downside was that she wanted nothing more than to go to bed immediately. She didn’t know why she was so exhausted all the time these days. 

She couldn’t yet head off to bed. There was the nightly ritual of hoping to meet someone. Under a different glamour, she would be traveling back to the Nags Head. It was quite dark inside and had a number of exits. She liked her odds of escape there if the worst happened again. She wished she had her old DA galleon. She had thought it would be in her beaded bag somewhere, but if it was, she couldn’t find it. She needed some new way to contact the Order. Until she could think of one, though, she was stuck with the daily Patronus. The Death Eaters were obviously intercepting one of them, but she didn’t know what else to do. Today she had gone back to just the Burrow and Shell Cottage. Her suspicion was that Grimmauld Place was the one most likely to be filled with dark wizards.

While she couldn’t prove that her suspicion was true, the witch with short black hair and blue eyes was pleased to find herself only among friendly strangers that night. She stayed quite later than she meant to, fascinated by the book of wand lore she had gained in Paris, before giving up on the Order.

Of course, Mimsy fussed when Hermione returned home. “Mistress Hermione, you bes so late! Mimsy was worried! What would Master say if Mimsy loses you?”  
Hermione rolled her eyes. It was maddening that she could get absolutely no information from the elf about who this mysterious master was. 

“I can take care of myself,” she said, trying to be gentle and understanding. The house elf was growing on her more each day. As loathe as she was to admit it, Mimsy obviously did have a mind of her own and had clearly made her choice. She was the worst ‘slave’ one could imagine. At least half the time she outright disobeyed any order Hermione gave. She couldn’t quite figure out if it was because the Master still held strings to her or if Mimsy would have treated him the same. Although she didn’t know, some part of her suspected the latter. Mimsy meant business when she decided how things were going to be. She had quite taken over the organization of the tent as well as all cooking, cleaning, and mending. To be honest, Hermione couldn’t bring herself to care. She was just glad to slide into the beautifully made bed and sleep rather than having to pack up in record time and apparate somewhere else. 

Maybe tomorrow she would finally make contact with her friends. She missed them all, but Harry most of all. She was surprised it wasn’t Ron she missed most, but she and Harry had grown even closer when Ron ran out on them. She might have feelings for Ron, but they weren’t as strong as the bond she and Harry shared. She missed curling up together to sleep, keeping each others’ nightmares at bay and sometimes talking into the night. There were no weird tensions between them anymore, just comfort. She needed that back. And fun nights hanging out with Ginny and Luna. She wanted to see all of the Weasleys. Neville. Her professors. Basically all the people who had a place in her heart. All she could do was hope and keep going. She was almost asleep, thinking of her loved ones, when she felt a sudden desperate tug on her magic.

*******************Trigger Warning: Torture**********************

Draco was in a state of shock. He couldn’t make sense of the world, of his life. His mother was remarried. His father was dead, killed by his own hand, and his mother was now married to someone who despised her and wanted her to pay for whatever slights he imagined. His mother, marred by her sister’s knife, just like his own wife was, hated him. He couldn’t wrap his head around it. No matter how many times his head repeated these facts, he couldn’t understand them. 

Moving to do Lord Voldemort’s bidding was just another part of putting one foot in front of the other and doing as told. Blaise had tried to talk to him earlier, something about leaving, about the master killing him as soon as the blood wards were turned over to him. Draco hadn’t really been able to hear or understand the words Blaise was saying. He told the healer he thought his ears needed healing, that they weren’t working right. Blaise had shaken him and stormed off muttering about fools. Draco wasn’t sure in his current state, but he rather thought that wasn’t the professional healer’s way of dealing with deafness.

“Lord Malfoy,” Voldemort mocked, “Take down your blood wards and hand them to me. I will drip my blood on them and we will put them back together, with you as the lesser occupant here.”

Draco nodded. Something in the back of his head warned this was a terrible idea, but he didn’t really care. He wasn’t completely sure he knew how to do what his Lord wanted him to do anyway, but he would try. He looked down at his right hand - that would have been the preferred - but there was a scar there. Something inside him said it was important and not to be used for this. So he didn’t. Draco made a cut on his left palm and began dripping his blood along the ward lines. They were at the keystone of the gates, the apex of all the ley lines in the area. Covering it in his blood would spread throughout all the wards. Some brilliant ancestor of his had come up with this to avoid having to drip blood all over the entire property. 

When the keystone was literally covered in his blood, he began to chant and weave with his wand, undoing the complicated wards to the best of his ability. Between the shock he was already in and the loss of quite a lot of blood, Draco was only able to unlock them to a point. With a sense of fatality, he turned to Lord Voldemort and forced the words from his lips.

“I am sorry, my Lord. I don’t know what else to do.”

The Dark Lord actually stared at him, taken aback for a moment. “You don’t know how to work the wards to your own home?” he asked incredulously.

Draco blushed with shame but replied, “My father hadn’t taught me. I’m not even sure he knew all of it. He always hired curse breakers to come in and take care of it when something needed to change.” 

There was a silent pause. Draco said, “If you can guide me through what to do, master, I am willing, just ignorant.”

As it turned out, the Dark Lord apparently didn’t know that much about the blood wards there either. After a few tries to rid the wards of their Malfoy ties, Lord Voldemort impatiently sliced his own hand, letting his blood join what was already on the keystone. He was pleased that this meant he could no longer be kept in or out of the wards, and that when he sent guards to test the wards, they could not. He was not at all pleased that he couldn’t change anything about the wards and that Draco still appeared to be Lord of the Manor.

“I should kill you now,” he told the boy.

Draco shrugged, “But then you would never get the wards to work. I didn’t get my heir yet. I’m the last Malfoy.”

“How dare you defy me!” Lord Voldemort hissed at him.

“I don’t even want the place,” Draco said in a voice barely above a whisper. He couldn’t bring himself to care enough to say the right, safe things.

“Crucio! Crucio! Crucio!!!” That was just the beginning. There were slicing hexes, bruising hexes applied to his organs, something that squeezed and shattered his bones, one at a time. The Dark Lord continued raining horrors down on Draco until he was broken, bleeding, and barely breathing. 

“My Lord! Please let me work on him,” Blaise cut in, his dark rolling voice a little higher in panic, “I don’t believe he will survive another spell of any sort.”

“You care that I might kill him, Healer Zabini?” Voldemort’s beady eyes were practically glowing red. 

“If I may, my Lord, your purpose was to secure the blood wards. Without a warding expert, you need his blood in his living body.” It took everything Blaise had inside not to show his immense concern for his friend. 

Draco was only conscious because he hadn’t been allowed to slip into darkness. Lord Voldemort wanted no reprieve for his senses as he ripped the boy’s body apart. He was panting at their feet, no longer able to scream. Even with Blaise interceding, he knew he might not live through this. His body was so broken that he might have been living on magic alone. When he felt a sudden kick to his stomach, he realized he had run out of that, as well. He felt like his mind, pinned to consciousness by Lord Voldemort’s magic, was falling into a dark, aching pit of blackness and despair. 

“Is this death?” he thought, hoping he might be released to it. But then he was distracted - something golden and shimmery was catching him, like a net, a blanket of warmth around him. It cut the ties the Dark Lord had bound him with, leaving Draco’s body unconscious on the ground, but still breathing.

The Dark Lord stormed back toward the manor house, giving no instructions about the limp body behind him. When he was far enough away, Blaise levitated Draco along a garden path and in a back door headed for his infirmary. If it were up to him, his friend wouldn’t be living in his room any longer. It was too accessible. They needed Draco to disappear as much as possible. Perhaps Lord Voldemort would find someone new to scapegoat.


	16. A Mean Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Rape/non-con
> 
> The last segment, with Charlie, is hard to read. Seriously. Bellatrix is so freaking squicky. Read at your own risk. Stuff happens that's important to the plot later, but I'll summarize it at the end. 
> 
> Thank you, thank you to @omnenomnom who helped me work through the last part of this one and made it less squicky than it originally was. And a thank you to @highlyintelligentblonde as well for her beta work.
> 
> The world and characters still belong to Rowling.

Friday, May 14, 1998; midday

It had been four days in the field now. The first three had been very wet. Ginny had holed up in the cabin they provided for her even though it was falling in. On first sight, she had assumed it was a magical building, charmed to look decrepit so no one would pay any attention to it. Unfortunately, it was the real deal. At least it had been well provisioned. She had plenty of cans of food, and a warming charm made them decent enough. There were even enough blankets to keep her warm if it hadn’t been for the leaks. She would have to let Remus know. He was still coordinating all of the safe houses and information gathering runs. 

That was what she was supposedly doing. There was a spy among the Death Eaters. A kilometer away from the cabin, there was a drop point for information. Sunday night was when the spy was supposed to drop a new packet. Ginny’s job was simply to go pick it up once the chime in the cabin sounded. She wasn’t entirely certain why they couldn’t wait in, say, a pub and have some other item chime when the drop point was accessed, but her role in all this was to follow orders.

The drop point had yet to be tripped. She was supposed to wait up to a week if necessary, though they had assured her that this drop had never been more than a day late. She definitely had not brought enough with her to do for so long on her own. She couldn’t fly, her favorite activity. The thought of keeping a journal made her ill. She had brought a book to read, but finished it already. It had been about one of her Quidditch idols, fascinating but not a long read. She had been making progressively more difficult goalposts for herself around the cabin and tossing a ball of paper through over and over again. It wasn’t a quaffle, but it was better than doing nothing.

Even with that, Ginny was sure she would go mad if something didn’t happen soon. She was preparing a can of muggle soup that honestly looked like someone had been sick when the chime finally sounded. With relief, she vanished the mess she had been heating and rushed about getting ready.

She had to be careful. If the Death Eater lingered, or had been followed, there could be a fight. That it was so many days past the planned time suggested that the person had a hard time getting away from others, so the potential danger was greater. 

It was almost midday. She had expected to collect the information after dark. The clothing she had packed was dark so that she could move unnoticed at night. It was logical, but not great for the middle of the day. She perhaps should wait until evening, but she couldn’t stand it. With a quick glamour spell, she changed her current outfit to green and brown so that it would blend better in the daytime woods.

She kept her wand out and her eyes alert as she walked to the drop point. When she arrived, she spent a good half hour observing before she moved forward and placed her hand inside the hollowed out tree. She made contact with what felt like a bound packet of papers. Smiling, she was finally able to apparate away with her mission complete.

OooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooO

Harry and Ron were sitting at the front of a delivery wagon filled with sweets. It was an utterly ridiculous plan in some ways, but Finian agreed the elder Crabbes were just as stupid as their son had been, so just as likely to fall for sweets from nowhere. He had laughed uproariously when they told him their story of drugging the young Crabbe and his friend Goyle by floating cupcakes filled with sleeping potion right in front of them. Ironically, they were taking swigs of polyjuice potion as they told the tale.

The guards at the front gate passed them through with only a cursory examination of the wagonload. When they came to the house, Finian pulled them to the kitchen entrance. 

“What’s this?” shouted a giant woman in an apron. She was clearly a cook. “We didn’t order no baked goods.”

“The Dark Lord sent them, my lady,” Ron said with a wink. The fellow whose hair he had used was a very attractive bloke.

“And why would he be sending them here?” she quizzed, looking dubious.

“Don’t rightly know,” Finian replied. “We’re just following orders, ma’am.” He looked like a common down-to-earth worker, nothing worth looking at, easily forgettable. “Come take a look at all this. I think he must be planning a feast here soon.”

The cook looked a little disturbed. 

“Can we start bringing it in for you, Miss?” Harry asked.

“Yes, yes,” she replied, “Hurry it up. I don’t have time to fuss over it.” She immediately began barking orders to the others inside. The kitchen was a whirlwind of activity at a moment’s notice. 

Finian took the first load in. The plan was that he would go deeper into the house to search for Professor McGonagall while the two of them kept going in and out with cakes and things. If all went well, he would soon be out with her and they would hide her in the back of the wagon to leave. It went flawlessly. He found the professor polishing silver in the dining room off the kitchen. 

“Minerva McGonagall?” Finian spoke softly.

She blinked at him. “Yes, young man?”

“I’m Fin. We’re here to get you back to the Order. Harry and Ron are in the kitchen for us. Come on,” he whispered, and grabbed at her wrist. One look over the rim of her glasses and he immediately dropped her wrist, looking chastised. “Sorry ma’am.”

She nodded at him and rose from the chair, carefully placing the silverware back in its box.

Harry was relieved to see Fin reenter the kitchen with a tray of goodies, but coming from what was presumably the dining hall. He was walking slowly. Harry hoped that meant he had found Professor McGonagall and she was following under Harry’s cloak. Their path was complicated as people kept stepping in the way. Harry wondered how the elderly Professor was managing the fancy footwork that would be necessary to keep from bumping into anyone. She was following Fin out the door when one of the kitchen workers ran right into nothing, the pudding they had been carrying splattering all over the area, including a cloaked figure that could now be seen outlined in pudding. Several workers shrieked and began blubbering about ghosts, but the cook yelled, “Where do you think you’re going!? PRISONER ESCAPE!” With a quick wand swish, sparks went up. The kitchen suddenly erupted into chaos as everyone turned to stop the prisoner and her rescuers.

Harry tossed the pie he had been carrying directly into the face of one of the kitchen helpers and rushed to the door, only to find there were Death Eaters pouring through it toward him. Glancing behind him, Ron already had his wand out and was dealing with two Death Eaters who had come from inside. As he watched, a man who had to be Crabbe, Sr came into the room as well, making eye contact and starting his way. A sharp pain in his arm brought Harry’s attention back to the four Death Eaters already closing in on him. 

Without even thinking about it, Harry started throwing spells so fast he was barely aiming. He didn’t really need to since they were so close around him. A petrificus totalus had one of them toppling to the ground. His expelliarmus did no good. They seemed to have expected it. Harry slowed two of them down with impedimenta.

The fourth, however, flung an incarcerous at Harry that he was unable to dodge. In moments, he was completely tied up and it was strangling him. Harry couldn’t move, could do nothing to prevent their capture. Crabbe Sr was almost to him, grinning. In the background, Harry saw that Ron was being held at wandpoint by another Death Eater. There was fear in his eyes.

BOOM! The wall of the kitchen burst open. Through the dust and debris, Harry couldn’t quite believe what he saw. Minerva McGonagall swooped toward him on a broom, her hair coming out of its precise bun and flying madly around her head. “Stupefy!” she yelled at the Death Eater holding him still. She plucked Harry from the man’s hands, swinging her broom around to knock Crabbe Sr in the face as they raced back out of the building.

With a quickly muttered counterspell, his professor had Harry out of the thick ropes that bound him. To their left, he saw Fin and Ron on another broom. They flew at top speed, even though no one seemed to be chasing them. 

As they flew, McGonagall spoke to her two ex-pupils, “Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, I see your plans still rely on sheer, dumb luck.” 

The boys looked at each other, abashed. 

She looked at them over her glasses, smiled and winked, “I must say, I continue to be impressed.”

Harry and Ron grinned at one another. They were glad to be out of there. It had been too close of a call. Who knew Crabbe would have that many actual Death Eaters on hand?

After a few minutes, Ron shouted over, “We should land and apparate. We don’t want to be followed.” The others agreed.

McGonagall brought Harry in to a perfectly smooth landing. Seeing his somewhat stunned expression, she answered his unasked question, “I might not have been the youngest seeker in a century like yourself, but in my prime I played a mean game of Quidditch, you know.” 

Harry stood with his mouth agape until Ron shoved him, reminding him they needed to apparate back to Hogwarts. Just before they left, Professor McGonagall looked at each of them and said a very sincere “Thank you for getting me out of that place, boys.”

OooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooO

It was dark again outside and Hermione was still in bed. She couldn’t believe how empty and drained she felt. She couldn’t have worked magic this day if her life had depended on it. The truly frightening part was that she didn’t understand what happened. 

Much like the phantom pain she had felt one night, Hermione had suddenly experienced a feeling she knew was not her own. Feeling the person’s pain and utter hopelessness, when their magic pulled on the strange vibrant thread between them, she pushed her magic to help. She was confused why there was no question within herself. Whoever they were, she must trust and respect them very much to have allowed this bond. Not that she had thought that all out. In the moment, she just responded to the need.

Hermione considered how dangerous that could have been, could still be, if their situation were even the tiniest bit different. She was so fatigued that she couldn’t move from the bed today. What if she had been out somewhere and couldn’t apparate back? What if they had been or still were attacked? She would be captured in an instant. 

“Mistress Hermione, yous must be eating to feel better.”

Hermione gave her a cross look and huffed, “If you would tell me what you know about this thread inside me, I might know what to do to heal faster.”

“Rest heals a body fasters and betters.” Mimsy put a cold cloth on Hermione’s forehead and began spoon feeding her delicious soup. It was over the top - Hermione was certain she could have lifted a spoon at least - but she didn’t have the energy to fight her caretaker.

Hermione felt like she had never tasted anything so filling and wholesome, until suddenly her stomach lurched and she was spewing it everywhere. 

“Oh, dear,” Mimsy said as she cleaned up the mess with a simple snap. “Just somes tea to calm yous tummy.” She was back shortly with a cup of the mint tea she always gave her, with a little extra flavor mixed in this time.

“Mmmmm,” Hermione appreciated the taste, “What else did you put in it?” She would have suspected a sleeping potion or the like except she knew their taste.

“Justs some red raspberry leaf, Mistress Hermione. Its be helping yous body.”

As much as she still felt like Mimsy and the unexpected escape was too good to be true, she found herself trusting the elf’s help. Where she kept coming up with all this tea in the middle of nowhere was a mystery, but Hermione was grateful for it. It did seem to settle her stomach a bit and her body felt less achy. 

After she had finished the cup of tea, Hermione lay back. She barely had energy even to think, but she couldn’t just drift off without going over things. Any day she couldn’t send her patronus was a possible wasted day. What if someone was there briefly and she missed them because she hadn’t any magic this day? Yet, the unanswered messages were wearing on her. Were they all in worse shape than the papers thought? That was disturbing to consider. 

Hermione wanted to cry all of a sudden. Oh great, she thought. She was regaining enough strength to have emotional jumps as she had been prone to lately. Post traumatic stress disorder was something Hermione knew about, and she thought surely there was some name for mid-traumatic stress issues as well. She wanted some better explanation for how she had been feeling lately, but it was obvious the stress was just getting to her. 

She wished that one of the books she picked up had been about bonds. She was so curious - and exasperated - about this thread that connected to someone else. That someone was in a lot of danger very frequently, which made her suspect they were a prisoner of Voldemort or one of the Death Eaters. Under other circumstances, Hermione thought she could probably follow the magic to that person, but she couldn’t risk that with things as they were. 

Part of her wondered if the risk would be worth it if she knew who it was. What if Harry were the person at the other end? She certainly would have willingly bonded herself to him magically if it would somehow help. But she couldn’t see a way that it would have. The same went for Ron. Also, perhaps it was silly, but she felt like she would recognize either of them somehow, even through a bond that so far just sent pain and, she suspected, made her feel lonelier and more hollow.

As she drifted off, she noticed Mimsy nearby, humming, smiling, and knitting something small. She was too tired to really wonder what it was.

OooOooOooOoo TRIGGER WARNING Rape/non-con/general awfulness ooOooOooOooO

Charlie was almost delirious, a state that terrified him in present circumstances. He couldn’t afford to be senseless around Bellatrix. But his body was wracked with fever. He was freezing one moment and burning hot the next. Pain radiated from his neck where the collar rubbed his wound. He was almost glad his hands were bound to the bed so that he couldn’t try to touch it, scratch the burning itching. He needed to relieve the pain, but he knew rationally that touching it would only make the infection worse and without a wand, there was nothing he could do to help it. 

He had thought the bleeding and horror of her cutting him would be the worst part. He could still see the gleam in her eyes as she reminded him that if he didn’t hold still, she might slice something vital. Charlie almost wished he had jerked himself instead of continuing to fight every instinct he had to keep from moving. He had given in and screamed until his throat gave out. He hadn’t seen it, but he knew it said “Blood Traitor.” He didn’t mind being marked as such. He just didn’t want to die from it.

That thought set him laughing until it became whimpers and tears. He didn’t want to die from being a “Blood Traitor.” Ha. When she killed him, because it was obvious that she would eventually, it would be because he is a blood traitor. He might as well already be dead. He wished he were. He needed the pain to stop. As he laughed, he thought he heard muffled voices, but knew they had to be in his head. He heard Bellatrix worrying over him and begging a healer to fix him. That certainly wasn’t real. A low, rolling voice made the most soothing sounds over him and he felt his consciousness slide away, taking the pain with it.

When he woke, Charlie had no idea how much time had passed. It could have been hours, could have been days. His arms were still tied, but the collar was off and his body felt like it was pleasantly floating. To his surprise, he heard Bellatrix and that same low, rolling voice talking.

“Just tell me how to keep him well,” Bellatrix whined.

“He can’t wear that collar anymore or the wound will stay infected,” the low voice, who seemed to be an actual healer, said.

There was fear in Bellatrix’s voice when she said, “But it can’t be uncovered! The Dark Lord said I couldn’t mark him.” She sounded like a little child who had done something naughty and been caught.

No one spoke for a moment. Charlie tried to move his head to look across the room, but found that moving his neck forward caused the excruciating pain to shoot through him. He gasped and let out a low groan as his head fell back onto the pillows.

“My pet!” Bellatrix cried, and came racing to him. Her hands were quickly all over him, petting and being disturbingly tender. Charlie did his best not to shudder. “My poor pet, I didn’t mean to hurt you. We were just playing, right? Things just got a little out of hand.” She was gripping his chin, forcing him to look into her eyes. She looked so sincere Charlie wanted to spit in her face. Of course she didn’t mean to hurt him by sticking a knife in his neck. Instead of rolling his eyes or scoffing at her, he kept eye contact and tried to nod, wincing as it hurt his neck again.

The healer sedately walked to the bedside. The young man looked to be barely of age, if he was at all. He was dark, with hair and eyes that matched. He had an air about him that made Charlie think he was an aristocrat. He also was definitely not English, familywise. At a guess, he was probably Italian. He wasn’t really what Charlie had expected as a healer, but he was grateful for what the man had done for him already.'

“Let me check the patient, please, Madam Lestrange,” the healer said quietly, carefully moving her wandering hands. Charlie wondered if the healer needed her out of the way or if he understood how thankful Charlie was for that small mercy. 

Bellatrix settled to the side and held his hand. Charlie almost thought he was still in his head making this up. Could she finally be coming around to him? She had been crueler than usual the last three days. She hadn’t liked her beloved master saying she couldn’t blemish him in front of everyone. He had known at the time that she would find other painful things to do to him instead, but even he hadn’t anticipated the level of malice she had attacked with. Her sudden worry for him and acting like she cared - calling in the healer - was disconcerting. 

“I’m Healer Zabini,” he said. “Your fever is gone and this salve should help the wound heal and keep you more comfortable while it does. Because the blade is cursed, it will take a long time, and of course there will be a scar.”

As he talked, Zabini’s slim fingers delicately skimmed the rough cut letters on Charlie’s neck with the salve he had mentioned. Charlie was having a hard time not moaning, the cold, numbing effect felt so good. The deep voice, too, did something to his insides. Comfort felt like something he hadn’t had in longer than he could remember. He had his eyes squeezed shut and knew he couldn’t open them. He was afraid of the way he would look at this person who was momentarily rescuing him from the pain. With Bellatrix right next to him, he didn’t dare react.

When he finished applying the salve, Healer Zabini began wrapping a bandage around his neck, softly covering the letters. He was interrupted by Bellatrix.

“He can’t be seen wearing a bandage.” She was worried again.

“He won’t be,” Zabini replied. He muttered something and Charlie felt the bandage tingle on his skin. “Everyone else will just see a collar. It even has a hook for a leash.”

“I’ll need to charm it with some....”

“No.” The healer’s voice was firm. “It can’t be charmed with anything or he might not heal properly - that or it might turn back into bandaging instead of the collar. Then people would know.”

There was silence for a moment. Charlie decided he could look now. Bellatrix and Healer Zabini were both leaning over him, though they were looking at each other. Bellatrix looked upset. The young man looked like he was up to something. He spoke again. “You told me earlier that he’s such a good pet, so obedient.”

She nodded and looked down at Charlie, smiling radiantly as she began petting his hair. She didn’t notice that he was breathing harder as he forced himself to not move. Zabini’s eyes were trying to tell him something. He knew whatever it was wouldn’t be something he wanted to do. He had been fighting so hard to get Bellatrix to think him tamed. Even if whatever the healer was planning played into that, it would be something else horrible he would have to do. Not that he would necessarily remember this either.

Charlie could only remember some of the things, of course. It was hard to hold on to a plan with all the obliviating. He didn’t actually know how long it had been since his last obliviation, but he thought it had been a few days at least. She left him with some memories now, which muddled the track of time even more. He got to keep the most painful and the most embarrassing. He had a brief memory of his brothers leaving him there. He remembered hours of her using him and beating him. He remembered all the ways the other Death Eaters stared at him and brushed their hands along his body when she forced him to the endless dinners and meetings. 

Bellatrix had made an error, though. When she left the memory of the night the Dark Lord refused to let her cut him, she didn’t stop it soon enough. He knew Tonks was here somewhere. He had been convinced that he was unlikely to be the only one, but knowing was different. It both upset and invigorated him. He wasn’t alone. And when he escaped, he would get her out, too. It gave him something else to fight for. Thinking about it allowed him to keep fighting in this moment, no matter how exhausted and overwhelmed he felt.

Zabini’s voice rolled calmly over him. “He’s such a good boy. He will do what you want without any compulsions on the collar. Won’t you, good boy?” He sounded like he was talking to an actual dog. It sickened Charlie, but he choked out a yes. It took everything within him to keep the anger out of his eyes. He could tell Zabini was trying to help him, and not being compelled to obey was huge, but he couldn’t help but resent being spoken to like he wasn’t even human. As for Bellatrix, it would just take time, he told himself. This was progress. Bellatrix looked thrilled by his answer, and that’s what he wanted, needed her to be. 

The healer began gathering his things to go. Bellatrix stared happily down at Charlie, stroking his muscled arms where they were still tied above his head. He held steady and tried not to focus too hard on how much he did not want to be touched. “Healer Zabini,” she said in an almost sing-song voice, “I appreciate you so much. I’m sure my pet does, too. I think you deserve a reward.”

Charlie tensed. Whatever she had in mind was likely either going to hurt or humiliate him. He should have known he couldn’t have even one night to recover.

The other man looked over at them, his eyes meeting Charlie’s for just a second before saying, “I’m just doing my job, Madam Lestrange. I will be back tomorrow to check on him.” 

He had already started for the servants’ door he came in through when Bellatrix grabbed his shoulder. “No, healer boy. I insist.” Zabini stopped, back ramrod straight, still facing toward the door. Bellatrix went on, “I’ve caught you looking at him before. You may fuck him as your reward. He’ll be happy to have you - won’t you, love?” 

Charlie couldn’t force himself to respond, but was saved by Zabini speaking. “Thank you, Madam, but I have other patients to see.”

“Come now, I’m sure they can wait a little while. You can even have him with no preparation if you like.” Her tone made it clear this was supposed to be extra enticement. This time she did notice Charlie’s breathing picking up, a deep panic making it hard for him to keep calm. 

She was ignoring the healer, so she didn’t see him shudder as he turned to face them. He was biting his lip, a look of concentration on his face. Charlie fervently hoped the man was coming up with some way around this. He didn’t see any indication that Zabini wanted him that way. There was no eagerness in his reluctant strides back toward the bed. 

Bellatrix was focused back on Charlie, one hand going to his neck to block his airflow even more. She cooed at him, “You want to show me what a very good boy you are, don’t you?”

Charlie reminded himself that he needed to be patient while her trust in him built, and that meant playing the part. He allowed a whimper to slip out and tried to nod. Between the bandaging and her hand on his neck, he could not easily move. 

Healer Zabini sounded calm when he said, “Madam, you’re going to hurt his neck and I will have to fix it again. Do not undo my work.” He looked her straight in the eye, momentarily away from Charlie as he added, “While I appreciate your offer, I would rather not bugger him. That’s not what interests me from a man.”

“Oh?” she questioned, her hand sliding down onto Charlie’s chest and toying with a nipple instead. “Would you like to come in his mouth instead?” 

Charlie focused on getting his breath evened out. He could do that. Actually, he was surprised to find his cock twitching at the thought. She had long since spelled him to be aroused at all times, even through the fever she hadn’t allowed him any relief in that respect. But actually reacting to the situation around him...there was something that pulled him toward the young healer. Charlie was ashamed that his first thought was how he might be able to use a connection like that. This man actually seemed human amongst the monsters. Charlie hated that he had to look at that as something to use.

“No,” Zabini said. Charlie thought he might be blushing. “You are right, of course, that I’ve looked at him. As our Dark Lord said, he’s a fine specimen. What I want, if I’m allowed, is to suck his cock and swallow his seed.”

Charlie couldn’t help his body’s response. He was even harder now than the spell held him. She had another spell that could keep him from reaching climax and, the worst, one that held him right at the edge then ruined the orgasm on her command. She had held him on the brink for over an hour one day. She hadn’t let him have release since then either. His balls were constantly tight and painful. Sometimes she would play with them, and had even slapped them a few times. He couldn’t stand to think about the amount of pain that had caused. The idea that he might finally be granted release was enough to make him thrust his hips forward without thinking.

“It seems my good boy likes that idea,” Bellatrix mused. Her hand reached down and stroked him once, leaving Charlie trembling with need. She only let him come now when he attacked and forced her. She had caught him crying after the first time, and hadn’t stopped pushing him for it since then, taunting him for becoming a monster. She would tease and torture him, but give little opportunities here and there to let him use her, until he couldn’t stop himself. She seemed to delight in the role reversal. It’s what had given him the idea in the first place that he might be able to convince her to care for and trust him. The last few days, she had made sure there were no possibilities for any of that.

Bellatrix smiled down at him. “I will allow it, this once. If you’re sure that’s what you want, healer boy.”

Zabini swallowed and nodded. He removed his Healer’s robes. He wasn’t meeting Charlie’s eyes anymore, but he could see anyway. The boy’s pupils were blown wide with arousal. Maybe he really was going to get off on this, or maybe it was just the least evil thing he could get away with. Maybe both. Charlie found he didn’t care much. If it gave him release and kept Bellatrix from being the one to touch him like that, he was as willing as he was able to be.

Not daring to talk to him directly, Zabini told Bellatrix, “He will need to be perfectly still so that his neck stays straight for the bandage.” 

“Oh, I can make sure he doesn’t move,” she said. Charlie couldn’t believe it when she began to finally untie his arms. He wasn’t sure how that would help him not move, but having that freedom felt intoxicating. She was giving him too much at once, he realized. He would have to be very careful not to let her realize it, too. As weak as it made him feel, he truly did not want this taken away.

The bed moved suddenly beside him. Bellatrix was scooting on. One of her legs went around him until her body was wrapping his, with Charlie in between her legs, his broad back against her chest as she leaned against the headboard. “He’ll have his head right here on my shoulder,” she said, petting down his chest as she spoke, “And I’ll get a perfect view of the show.” She sounded delighted. Charlie wasn’t sure if this was good or bad, but it didn’t really matter. Whatever it was, he had no choice but to go through it.

“Come onto the bed with us, Healer Zabini. What’s your name again, child?”

“Blaise,” he answered, his voice a little less smooth than normal. He started to crawl onto the bed.

“Pet, be a good boy and spread your legs further. Let him crawl in between. Your arms are not allowed to move, but you may grip my legs with your hands if you need to.” Looking up, she commanded Blaise to take off his shirt, at least. “I know you don’t need to remove any clothing to suck his cock, but it will be more fun for me to look at.”

Blaise hesitated, but shed his shirt after a moment. He was incredibly slim. He didn’t have muscles to speak of, but he was beautiful. Bellatrix hummed, “The dark and the light. The two of you look stunning next to each other. You’ll look even better once he’s in your mouth. Don’t worry - I won’t let him come too soon.” 

Charlie groaned at that last declaration. She twisted his nipple hard enough to make him yelp. “Making sounds you don’t have permission for might make me change my mind about letting him drink your release. Is that what you want, my pet?”

She was holding his head so that he couldn’t move it, so he had to make the words come out even though they tasted like ash. “No, Mistress. Please, please let him have his reward.”

“You see, Blaise. He wants you to suck him. Begging for it. He really is such a good boy, isn’t he?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Blaise said, licking his lips without realizing it. Charlie hated to admit it, but he was breathing harder and feeling like he might go mad from the anticipation. When Blaise tentatively touched him, he sucked in air so hard Bellatrix whispered in his ear that he was allowed to moan. Thank Merlin, because he couldn’t have held it in once that hand was working slowly up and down, the deep, dark eyes staring into his. 

Charlie wasn’t listening as Bellatrix praised him. He gasped and let his fingers flex into her thighs when Blaise dropped his head and licked around the mushroom tip of Charlie’s cock. He couldn’t stop the noises pouring from his throat as the other man wrapped his sweet, wet mouth around him and slid up and down. 

The tingling of one of Bellatrix’s spells filled him with the fear that she wouldn’t let him finish, but Charlie was too distracted to even think about doing anything about it. She said she would just hold me off for a while, he murmured in his head. She would let him come this time. Merlin, she had to. He was going to explode. Only he couldn’t, no matter how good it felt. 

And Blaise was doing everything in his power to make it feel good. Beyond the soft wet velvet of his mouth, the man’s tongue was sinfully swirling up, down, and around while he sucked. Charlie wanted to scream every time it flicked along the slit at the top, gathering his precum, but he didn’t have permission for that. He was having a hard time being still, but Bellatrix was holding him around the chest and whispering reminders that he couldn’t move his neck. Her voice was sweet, loving. Her breath was close enough that it tickled his ear when she spoke. Despite all the times he had been forced to be with her, this was by far the most intimate. He fucking hated it. 

Then she started kissing down his back at the same moment Blaise changed his rhythm and speed. Charlie had to fight a moan from escaping, knowing she would assume it was about what she had been doing. He must not have hidden it well enough, since he heard a hiss of laughter from Bellatrix and her hands lightly roamed his torso. It should have disgusted him but he just didn’t have it in him to fight how good this felt. Even if Bellatrix was part of it.

When he thought he had gotten used to all the different stimulation, Blaise caught his eyes, hollowed out his cheeks, and took his fat cock all the way to the back of his throat and swallowed. Charlie cried out. He couldn’t stop himself. The scream it tore from his throat was ongoing as his body fought for the release it needed. His magic was crying out for it, too. He felt like they were in the middle of a storm. He could almost feel the rush of that storm reaching and pulling. 

There was a shimmer of magic from Bellatrix dropping the spell, and Charlie’s world imploded. He saw stars before everything went black for a few long seconds. The waves of pleasure when he came to were so overwhelming that he felt tears on his cheeks. He was moaning and crying out as Blaise continued to milk him with his mouth, his slim fingers pumping the base. Charlie felt his whole body shaking. His head was only still because Bellatrix was holding it in place, one hand trailing along his neck.

“My good boy. Don’t hurt yourself, pet.” She kissed along the back of his neck and shoulders. Charlie wanted to throw his head back, wanted to hide somewhere he could bask in the afterglow without her fucking touching him. This was all far too much. 

Blaise finally released Charlie’s cock from his mouth, his tongue drawing along the shrunken length of it as he moved away, making Charlie shudder and close his eyes. He heard the deep rumble of Blaise’s voice but couldn’t make sense of the words. 

Then there was someone hovering above him, lips on his, a tongue teasing his mouth open. He could taste himself on this new mouth, but it wasn’t a turn-off. The sensation of stubble against his cheek was new as well, but somehow heightened the feelings. It wouldn’t take much of this for his body to be ready again. One of Blaise’s hands came up, tentatively, and held onto Charlie’s hand where Bellatrix couldn’t see.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Charlie was aware that he shouldn’t be enjoying this. Bellatrix was still behind him, though he cared so little about what she was doing that he was barely aware of her. He should be appalled and want to fight them both off of him. But here in this moment, all he wanted was to keep this. He desperately needed this feeling of being held and cherished. Later he could plan how it might work in his favor. For now, he allowed himself to bask in it, losing himself in Blaise’s touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary of the triggering part:
> 
> After Voldy commanded her not to blemish her new pet, Bellatrix cut 'Blood Traitor' into Charlie's neck where it wouldn't show under his collar. It got infected and he is now feverish. Bellatrix has Blaise come and see to him, allowing him to talk her into replacing the big collar with a bandage spelled to looked like a collar. She agrees to not put any additional spells on it that would control him. She decides they will reward Blaise for his help by offering him Charlie. She won't take no for an answer. Choosing the least horrible thing he can get away with, Blaise says he wants to suck Charlie off. She allows it, even using her rather twisted sexual spells to hold him off for a while until Blaise (and Charlie) has had time to enjoy himself. Throughout the entire scene, we see Charlie internally wanting to fight back, his growing hatred for her, and his plan to gain her trust. Externally, he is playing along. 
> 
> On a side note, when I started writing this, I really didn't think Charlie was going to be a major secondary character. Surprise! He has a mind of his own with this story. You will, however, be seeing a lot more of Hermione soon and Draco as well.


	17. Raid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is posting rather later in the day than usual. I'm finding as I get further in that I have a lot more editing to do and I'm not prepared quite as early. 
> 
> I haven't mentioned it since the beginning, but this is the first fanfic I've ever written. Now that I'm this far into it and working with an alpha, @omnenomnom, there are a lot of things I would probably do differently. Don't worry, I have no intention of abandoning this! 
> 
> I am curious, however, about some things for the sake of improving my writing. If you have the time, I would appreciate a comment that addresses any strong feelings you have on the topics. I may or may not change much in the way I write this particular story, depending on feedback, but knowing what readers like can help my writing overall and I have LOTS of plunnies beyond this one.
> 
> How do you feel about the perspective changing between lots of different characters?
> 
> Do any of the characters specifically bore you? Who and why?
> 
> This story is summarized as a Dramione, and it is, but it also has the larger overarching plot of trying to win the war, which encompasses a lot more people than just the two of them. Does it bother you that Draco and Hermione are separated for so long even if they make up for it later? Should it have been presented as more of a general war fic somehow? (I have no idea how I would have summarized it otherwise, but just the idea.)
> 
> Do you enjoy/want to see the romantic interactions between other characters or is it uninteresting if it's not Draco and Hermione? (This one especially I can guarantee I won't take out some characters, but others I am interested if readers would want more interactions between. More smut or less smut, folks?)
> 
> Yes, I just gave you homework. Channel your inner Hermione.
> 
> As always, much love to both my aforementioned alpha and my beta, @highlyintelligentblonde
> 
> And I still don't own Harry Potter.

Sunday, May 17th, 1998; morning

Remus growled quietly as he looked over all of the information Ginny Weasley’s mission had contained. Between the things George stole from Malfoy Manor and this packet, there were quite a few things the Order could do to disrupt Riddle’s plans. He just wished there was something in the information that let him know Dora was ok. What was happening to her while they pursued other raids and missions?

As much as he hated it, he understood. Getting back into Malfoy Manor after one successful break in was going to be nearly impossible. He knew Ron was working on it, but now there would be even more distractions. There had been considerably more Death Eaters guarding the Crabbe home than they had expected. Riddle must not be happy about the number of prisoners they had been losing.

Or Minerva had been used as bait. It bothered him the way the Death Eaters had ignored Fin and McGonagall but had gone after Harry and Ron. Something about it felt off to the werewolf, even though Ron and Kingsley seemed to find it reasonable. The full moon was approaching, so he had been known to get testy and paranoid around this timeframe. 

Either way, they had the Headmistress back now. She was resting in the Hospital Wing. They hadn’t harmed her much but Madam Pomfrey wanted to keep an eye on her for a couple of days, at least. Mrs. Crabbe had too much fun ordering her around to want to hurt her new maid. It hadn’t even been hard work, just a bit demeaning. He was glad they had her with the Order again. Hopefully she would have the key to this warding business and they could finish rebuilding the castle before someone got past it now being unplottable. There had been talk of putting the Fidelius on it, but for such a large space, it would take more than one wizard working together. He wasn’t sure that was likely to happen.

For now, Remus needed to find Kingsley immediately and suggest a raid on a base they hadn’t known about before. They were supposed to be holding quite a few muggleborns there. There would be a number of Death Eaters, but they would be unlikely to expect attack in such a remote location.

OooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooO

They had traveled to a remote woodland to the West. It was dense enough to be almost dark despite the sunny day. They had flown in - Ron, Harry, Angelina, Michael, Finian, George, Cho, the Patil twins, and three Aurors - Robards, Smith, and their ward specialist Coleton. Ron believed a dozen was a good number even if it turned out to be more than necessary. 

The encampment, when they came to it, didn’t look like an encampment at all. It was in a clearing by itself. It looked like a ramshackle shed. Yet walking around the ward perimeter actually took the better part of an hour. It was unnerving how large whatever the wards were hiding must be. Their informant hadn’t been certain how many Death Eaters would be there, only that it existed and there were a number of captives there. 

“Do you think they have guards watching us?” Ron asked Robards.

“It would be the intelligent thing to do. Even if it just appears as a shack in the middle of a clearing, they should at least have people on watch to attack us,” he answered gruffly. They were hiding outside the clearing and all were dressed to blend in. 

“Unless they were hoping we would come. I wish I knew whose information we’re working from,” Ron whispered. He was frustrated with how little planning could happen before the heat of the moment on this raid. Their goal was to find prisoners and break free as many as possible. 

“General Weasley, sir,” snarked a familiar voice. Ron rolled his eyes at his brother and indicated he should continue. “The troops are wondering about the plans, sir.” He threw in a sharp salute to punctuate his sentence. As much as it annoyed Ron, this was also the most like himself he had seen George since the battle. Practically the only time he left his room was to go on raids.

“The plans, Underling George, aren’t ready until we see what’s in there. Please tell the troops to stand by.” Ron quipped.

“Ah. By the seat of your pants we fly then, General.” George saluted and walked back to the rest of the crowd. There was a wicked light in his eyes that told Ron he was out for blood once they made it in. Harry and Kingsley, as de facto leaders of the Order, had made it clear that lethal force was only to be used in life or death circumstances. George and the Aurors found that most situations could be perceived as life or death.

Very suddenly, with Coleton still in the clearing working the wards, the actual encampment appeared out of nowhere, the wards lifting completely. They didn’t have much time to observe all the tents behind as a surge of Death Eaters raced at them. Coleton was down with blood gushing from every orifice in seconds.

Ron barked out orders, “Michael, Harry, Angelina to the left. Padma, Parvati, Robards to the right. Smith and I take the middle. Fin and Cho, try to get past and find the prisoners. Give them cover.” 

Everyone but Fin and Cho surged forward to meet the oncoming spells. Ron noticed that the majority of the robes were standard issue. Only one seemed to be the individualized robes and mask of an inner circle member. Ron nodded at Smith and they coordinated their movements to work toward the Death Eater. 

Spells were flying everywhere. Ron started the battle hurling impedimentas over and over to give them all time. Once slowed, he could either stun or incarcerous before they got too close. Still, he found himself dodging more often than he was comfortable with. It seemed like an endless number of fighters coming at him. He could see that Smith was breaking a sweat, a feat rarely accomplished.

Padma and Parvati fought back to back against a circle of the robed men. Padma specialized in stunners while Parvati was working them over with jinxes - jelly legs, unstoppable dances, tickling charms, anything to distract them for Padma to stun them when they didn’t expect it. They had a circle of bodies piling around them.

Suddenly, a Death Eater with long black hair gave a scream and Avada at Padma. He was cut off with a gurgle when his neck was hit with Robards’ Sectumsempra. He hit the next guard with an avada of his own and began slinging deadly curses right and left.

Cho had disappeared. Ron hoped that meant she made it past the fight and was finding the muggleborns who were supposed to be there. Fin was fighting some of the Death Eaters still pouring out of the tents further in. Perhaps he was drawing them off so Cho could do her work.

Michael was shielding for all he was worth. He wasn’t the best bloke in an all out battle and Ron realized he shouldn’t have brought him when he didn’t know what might happen. Still, every now and then the young man managed to hit someone with a petrificus totalus, his specialty.

George was chasing the Death Eaters trying to avoid him and go for one of the others. He was ruthless and Ron had a feeling his spells weren’t just stunning. He had never seen his brother so vicious. There wasn’t time to dwell on it.

Angelina had jumped back on her broom to dive bomb with spells and sometimes just her body slamming into as many Death Eaters as she could. She distracted a fair number of them as well, as she made what seemed an excellent target - only she was unmatched at dodging. 

Harry was struggling. He had a pile of wands next to him from all the times he had cast expelliarmus so far, but they kept coming. More and more, it seemed like they were specifically after him. 

Ron wanted to yell at him when he saw the blue light of an expulso shooting toward the ground next to Harry, but it was already too late. One moment Harry was standing there deflecting a stunning spell and the next he was on the ground, glasses askew, with three Death Eaters running toward him. Ron was relieved to see he had somehow managed to keep hold of his wand in the blast. He himself was too busy with two new Death Eaters attacking him. 

By the time Ron had taken them down, he was distraught to see that Harry was about to be taken out by a stunner. A savior swooped down in the form of Angelina. She slammed into the Death Eater and tossed Harry his broom. “They’re targeting you, Harry!” she cried. “Get out of here!”

Harry’s eyes darted around until they made contact with his. Ron wanted to shout at his reckless friend to be careful, but he was just going to have to trust him. He nodded his agreement with Angelina and watched as Harry slipped onto his broom and set off. Angelina covered for him, taking out as many of the enemy as she could so they couldn’t follow the Chosen One.

Ron continued to fight against the tide of Death Eaters. The situation felt a little desperate as there was no end in sight. No matter how many they got rid of, it seemed like there were still more coming. At least they weren’t hard to take out. This had to be some sort of training camp.

In the distance, Ron finally saw a jet of pink lights go up over the camp. Cho’s signal that she had completed her mission. With Harry flying out ahead of them, a collection of Death Eaters pulling out brooms to follow, Ron called a retreat. 

“To Harry! Keep him safe!” Ron cried, grabbing his own broomstick and heading out.

OooOooOooOooOooOooO

Harry moved branches out of his way before they could hit him in the face. To avoid being an easier target, he had taken off at a low enough level to move through the forest. It also allowed him to hear his pursuers. Because, somehow, two people had made it past Angelina. 

A green light flew past his shoulder and he turned to shoot a stupefy behind him. It went wide of his target, but Harry put on a burst of speed and tried to get away instead of trying again. They weren’t as good of flyers as he was, but they seemed determined. More and more spells were flying his way. He was already halfway back to Hogwarts. He had to lose them.

Seeing a particularly dense tree up ahead, he ducked behind it and hovered, taking careful aim. Within a moment, one of his pursuers fell from their broom. He hated that this might kill them, but it was only his intent to stop them. The second, he hit with an arresto momentum. There was no sign of anyone else.

He began to race along again, moving above the treeline as he worried about the rest of the group and wondered if anyone had found the prisoners. He considered going back, but it seemed like he only made things worse. The others had their battles, but it seemed like far more of them were after him personally. Of course Voldemort was still out to kill him, but he was surprised that such low level Death Eaters were authorized to avada him. One thing the Order had always been able to count on was that Lord Voldemort wanted to do Harry in personally. He wondered what he could do about it as he crossed the wards onto the ground of Hogwarts.

OooOooOooOooOooOooO

A cold room…..pain like ice blades everywhere…..

This wasn’t her. But where did she end and they begin?

Looking down at her hand, their hand…..skin like frost. Cold, crisp, icy white. Can this hold life within? I feel a heartbeat. Two heartbeats - mine and theirs, but too slow.

A low, rolling voice nearby. Familiar…..their heart whispers family…..

“So much blood lost,” the voice says.

Something at their lips. Liquid poured between….tastes like metal….feels like warmth, spreading out, bringing them back.

Irritation bubbling up…..despair…..

“You were supposed to let me die,” their voice is one she knows but can not place. It’s out of focus, like the room spinning around them.

Her heart - singular - stutters at the thought. Her hope wavers between them but they need it more. 

Eyes full of ice see her. She feels them separating, flinging her out. Did they not feel her before? Did they not know that two were one?

Hermione sat up in bed, gasping. She idly wondered if draining her magic could also bring on hallucinations. That dream had been so real, the feelings so intense. It seemed like something else entirely. 

A few minutes passed before she could get her breathing under control and her heart calmed. She wasn’t feeling pain. This was her mind just filling in blanks of what might be happening at the other end of the bond. An emptiness sliced through her. She had given them her hope. What was left for her now?

She shook her head to brush away those thoughts. Of course she still had hope for herself. Her situation was nothing like the one in her dream. She could only hope that whoever she was bonded to was also not in a situation like that. Her stomach did an uncomfortable flip at the thought. 

Hermione considered getting out of bed. The slant of the shadows on the side of the tent told her it was sometime in the afternoon. Her mind felt sluggish after the sharp images, though, and the exhaustion that thrummed through her where her magic should have been was quickly pulling her back under.

OooOooOooOooOooOooO

Harry trudged up toward the castle, trying not to look up at the half-ruined building he loved as his first real home. He was frustrated. He should have been able to do more during the raid. He knew he had neutralized quite a few of them, but the camp had so many more people than they had expected. Though he wasn’t sure about the comment Angelina had made, he had to admit it seemed likely they were targeting him. So now even more people would have to die for him.

McGonagall’s voice suddenly rang out across the grounds. “All available hands to the hospital wing, please!”  
Harry broke into a run.

There was chaos everywhere. McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey were with the worst cases, but many more were in need of care. Harry was useless for that, but he found a job with Fleur. She was well enough to do some smaller healing spells, but she needed someone like him to lift people and move them around so she could conserve her magic for the important parts. 

“Is this everyone who was out?” he heard Remus ask. 

“No,” replied an exhausted Cho. “I found these prisoners and was able to apparate them out before the guards remembered to check on them rather than just fight the Order. There were others...it was…” She slid onto her knees sobbing. 

Harry thought about going to her. Someone should. The thought of her wet tears from fifth year came back, though, and he shook his head. Someone being there for her didn’t mean he should be. Relief swept over him when he saw Neville sink down beside her and pull Cho into his arms. 

When things finally slowed down, Harry counted nine muggleborns and two muggles. Cho had been given a Calming Drought before reporting that there were probably 20 more at least, mostly muggles, but they were so far gone already that she wasn’t sure they would survive apparition. Cho felt terrible about leaving the rest of the prisoners and her team behind. But it had been most important to get her survivors to the castle.

Finian walked into the hospital wing with Parvati in his arms and the chaos began all over again. When it was all sorted, they had lost the ward specialist, Coleton but beyond him, five of the team members had some kind of minor injury, though only Parvati would be in the hospital overnight. 

Ron came to him as they were exiting the hospital wing. “You okay?” Ron asked.

“Yeah, no one got me,” Harry told him. “Just frustrated I was more of a distraction than a help,” he said.

His friend nodded, then pulled the two of them into an empty classroom. “Harry, we’ve got to talk.” Ron pulled a handful of wands out of his robes. He took a deep breath. “We’re at war. You keep us well stocked with extra wands, mate, but…. Harry, in a situation like we were just in, disarming them isn’t enough.”

Harry blinked at Ron. “We’re the good side, Ron. We can’t just go around killing people.”

“If we don’t take prisoners and we don’t kill people, Harry, we’re going to lose this war. We need to be doing both. In chess, you don’t just move your opponent’s pieces out of the way and then put them back on the board.”

“You know chess references go right over my head,” Harry responded uncomfortably, sidestepping the real issue. He couldn’t believe what Ron was saying. He had seen the kinds of spells the Aurors and George were throwing, but he had decided it was prudent to turn a blind eye in the moment. This was a topic he wanted discussed at the next meeting, but he was shocked that Ron was on the other side of it.

There was something hard in Ron’s blue eyes when he said, “Just think about it, Harry. How long do we want this war to go on? Who do we want to win?”

Harry didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what to say. After a minute, Ron squeezed his shoulder and headed out the door.


	18. Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think we have any trigger warnings this time. 
> 
> Thank you for the feedback, for those who gave it last time. Feel free to read, review, and tell me what you think of the story overall and the direction its headed if you wish.
> 
> My alpha, omnenomnom, is still awesome! My beta, highlyintelligentblonde, is also still awesome!
> 
> JK Rowling still unfortunately owns all this.

Monday, May 19, 1998; morning

Sunshine was streaming in the tent and Hermione was determined to get up and out into it. Three days and she still felt fatigued. At least her magic was working properly again. Almost two days without it had frayed her nerves to the point of a near breakdown. She was thankful that Mimsy and her calming teas and soup had been there through it all. She had managed to keep some soup down a few times now. She just never knew when she would suddenly feel queasy again. 

With great effort, she made her way up from the bed and stumbled into the loo. At least if they were stuck camping, they were in a tent with plumbing. The wizarding world was really amazing sometimes, she had to reflect. It was good to remember, too, lest she decide to run away into the muggle world and forget all of this. As if she would be allowed to, Hermione scoffed at herself.

She had to have help from Mimsy, but she did make it out into the sun. She doubted the elf would have helped her if she hadn’t approved of the idea that the sunshine might make her feel well again. No matter how much better she got, Hermione couldn’t shake the dull ache in her heart and abdomen when she thought about the person on the other end of that thread. She almost wished that she had another of those vivid dreams. Silly as it sounded, it had made the ache more bearable, as though she had actually been with the person. She thought the intense feelings of loneliness she was having must be an effect of being far from whomever she was bonded with.

After she had rested a little longer and Mimsy had brought her more tea, a book, and a blanket, Hermione pulled out her wand. Well, the wand she had. It was beautiful, with ivy carved all up and down it. The wood seemed to be some kind of willow, very flexible. She didn’t know who it had originally belonged to, but she knew it wasn’t really hers. She was very fortunate that it responded so sweetly to her. 

Raising the wand, she cast the spells she had performed daily for almost three weeks now. Well, daily until the last few days. She tried not to dwell on it, not to let the panic that she might have missed someone hearing her message settle into her heart.

************************************

Bill was making a big breakfast for his wife, even though he knew she wouldn’t eat most of it - bacon, sausage, eggs, toast. Fleur watched as he cooked. “Oh Beel, you make ze best food.”

“Only the best for my perfect lady,” he replied. 

She laughed, the sound like bells, sending a happy shiver down Bill’s spine. He very much enjoyed his wife’s Veela heritage.

As he delivered her breakfast to their kitchen table at Shell Cottage, he leaned down and captured her lips. He was so glad they had decided to leave Hogwarts and come home for the rest of her recovery. Perhaps she was feeling well enough today that they could begin practicing for the baby they both wanted. He knew neither of them were ready to try for another pregnancy yet, but there was no harm in practicing.

He poured his love into the kiss, taking it from a brief brush of lips into a flash of passion. Fleur’s laughter returned, but this time throaty and a little bit dark. They were approaching the full moon within the week. That near-growl she could do was enough to roll Bill right over the edge. He moved his hands down, stroking along her beautiful body.

Suddenly, there was a brilliant flash in the middle of the room. Bill’s hand was off of his wife, on his wand, with his body thrown between her and the light before he had any idea what it was. A patronus was flying around the living room - a dragon, he realized. Suddenly it looked straight at him and said in a voice they had all feared they wouldn’t hear again, “This is Hermione. I don’t know why my patronus changed, but it’s me. If anyone is there to hear this, please send someone to meet me at the Nags Head Inn in Lydney at 6pm. I won’t be immediately obvious, but I will be watching for you. I hope this finds someone.” The little dragon looked momentarily sad, but then whipped around Bill and Fleur happily and disappeared.

Fleur had gasped when Hermione began speaking. “Beel, we must go to her!”

He looked at his wife in shock. “Absolutely not!”

“What? You weel not help her!?”

“Of course I will, but you’re staying here.”

His wife gave him the look. Under other circumstances he would have given in to it. He hated having her angry with him. There was no way, however, that he was going to let his wife leave this house anytime soon. 

“I’ll get someone to come with me,” he assured her, while mentally adding, “and someone else to be with you.” 

He bid her to eat her breakfast while he contacted the Order and began making arrangements. Before long, it had been decided that George and Angelina would come. Fleur had always liked Angelina and would enjoy her company while he and George went to see if this was really Hermione. He had asked that Ron and Harry be left in the dark for now. No one needed them doing anything stupid.

Bill wasn’t entirely certain what stupidity the two of them might get up to in this situation, but he agreed it was better not to know. With those things out of the way, there was nothing left to do but wait. He wished the time had been sooner, but he supposed she might be doing something during the day. A little research showed him that the Nags Head Inn was a muggle establishment. If she had been hiding in the muggle world, she would have needed some way to afford her things. She had been missing since the battle....over 2 weeks. Anything could have happened to her in that time.

Bill had never been close to the girl. She was too young for him to know well, plus she was his baby brother’s best friend...and perhaps something more. Ron could be ridiculously jealous sometimes and had never appreciated any of his brothers having much to do with her. Still, she was a close friend of the entire family and he had felt extra protective of her since the incident after Malfoy Manor only a few weeks ago. She was also the only thing that kept Harry and Ron going for the last year, the brain behind the things they had done. Bill had a lot of respect for her from all of the things he had heard about her. 

More important at the moment, when they had called George to the planning room and informed him of his next “mission” it was the first time he had seen George happy since their mum had woken. Anyone who could bring that response out in his brother was someone Bill had to hold in high esteem. Waiting until the evening was going to be exhausting. Perhaps Fleur would be willing to provide a distraction.

***********************************************

A major change had occurred between the last meeting and this one. Kingsley was no longer in charge. Presiding at the front of the hall was Headmistress McGonagall. Everyone smiled as they filtered in and saw her. Not everyone had gotten a chance to talk to her since her rescue, so a number of people meandered up to the front desk before the meeting could commence. 

Even with the late start, Harry and Ginny came skidding in late, their robes slightly askew. McGonagall looked over her glasses at them and said, “How nice of you to join us.” Ron looked over at him and rolled his eyes, but grinned conspiratorially. There had been so many instances of the two of them running into classes late like that. Harry just hoped Ron wouldn’t think about what had made the two of them specifically late together.

Harry was in good spirits even though he knew this was going to be a tough meeting. Protecting the castle was important but hard with so few of them. The Order was recruiting more people, but they were having a difficult time deciding what to do with them until they were certain each person could be trusted. There were the wards to discuss. And he was very hopeful about his plans to discuss the kinds of spells they were using.

“Today we must discuss battle plans in case the castle comes under attack,” Headmistress McGonagall began. “We are working on how to put the Fidelius on the whole property, but something of this size has never been attempted before. In the meantime, we will be breaking into smaller groups to discuss everyone’s part in protecting the castle as it is.”

The Order members, young and old, looked grim. The idea of Hogwarts coming under attack again with it only half rebuilt was daunting. Everyone began receiving their assignments, some guarding the outer perimeters, a guard contingent watching from the astronomy tower at all times, some building additional safeguards and traps at the edges of the inhabited parts of the castle. They began to separate into groups according to their assignments. Everyone except him. There had been no group that included Harry.

“Excuse me,” he said. People stopped talking and looked at him. He wished they wouldn’t. “Headmistress McGonagall, where should I be? I think you’ve forgotten me.”

She stared at him for a moment, a pitying look in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Mr. Potter, but you won’t have an assignment here at the castle.”

“What!? You can’t make me stay in the common room or something while fighting is going on!”

“That’s not…”

“I know I can be a bit reckless, but you need every fighter you can get!” He stood, his anger getting the best of him.

“Be that as it may, Mr. Potter, we…”

“I can’t believe you would take away my duties and make a decision like this to force me....”

“Mr. Potter, “ McGonagall snapped as she stood to her full and formidable height, “You have not been relieved of any duties. You have been removed to fulfill your duties at an alternative location. We will brief you on the changes after the main meeting.”

She sat down in the stunned silence. Harry had no idea what to say. Ginny reached for him, threading her hand through his and tugging him down beside her. Harry sat in a daze, unable to even think, much less argue. This was not at all how he had expected the meeting to go. He forgot everything he had been looking forward to discussing.

When the meeting drew to a close, Ginny softly said, “They just want to talk to you right now. And the Slytherins. I don’t understand, but… I love you, Harry. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

He got up and gloomily made his way toward the Headmistress. As he did, he saw the flash of red hair and remembered that his very best friend was in charge of the battle tactics. Ron would get him out of this mess.

“Ah, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall looked at him a little severely. “Are you ready to listen?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied sullenly. He would hear the plan first, then argue against it. That’s what Hermione would tell him to do.

“You are leaving tonight for a safe house. You will be taking Theodore and Gregory with you. Some new recruits will join you in a few days as well. Dean Thomas is coming, too. He has already been informed. The two of you will be the senior Order members at this location.”

Harry’s jaw was hanging open. “You’re just...sending me away with people you can’t trust? Is Dean my guardian?” Harry was furious.

“He is there to help you remain in control of the house. We may send someone with more experience after a while as well, but for now we can’t spare anyone else.”

“Someone with more experience? That’s an interesting way to say you want a real grown-up heading up the place.” 

“Perhaps you could prove to us that it is unnecessary.”

“It’s unnecessary to send me away when you need me here helping!”

Ron spoke up then, “Harry. I know you don’t like this, mate, but you’re the most important of all of us. We’re not ready for a final battle, so you can’t face Voldy yet. You have to be somewhere safe. That you can look out for those we can’t trust yet is killing two stones with a bird - isn’t that what Hermione always says?”

Harry glared at him. “I can’t believe you would do this to me!”

“I’m in charge of tactics here now, Harry. You don't send your King to take out pawns. If this were all a big chess game, you know that you and Voldy are the opposing Kings.”

“This isn’t a bloody chess game!” Harry cried.

“No, Mr. Potter,” Headmistress McGonagall spoke softly, “it’s the fate of the wizarding world.”

He deflated. He was still angry, but he couldn’t say they weren’t right. Harry didn’t have to like it, but he knew he had been targeted lately. If there was going to be a battle that wasn’t the battle, he needed to be out of it. He turned on his heel and stormed out of the room. Theo and Goyle watched him go then nodded politely to the Headmistress and left to gather their things.

**********************************

Hermione was sitting with a good view of the door. She liked the way the booth obscured her, even if any wizards who came in wouldn’t immediately recognize her anyway. Part of her wanted to give up on this. She had thought longingly of sending a patronus to Harry and Ron directly and being done with it. But what would she do - truly - if it went to them at a crucial and distracting moment? She still hadn’t gathered enough information to make sure that wasn’t a possibility. This just felt so hopeless. Every single time the door opened, her breath caught, but it was never anyone she knew.

The door opened again, but a group was going out as two figures came in wearing ball caps. She couldn’t get a good look at them for a moment. When she finally saw them, her heart stopped for a moment. A long red ponytail went down the back of one tall figure, an earring hanging from one ear. His slightly shorter counterpart showed just a tiny bit of red hair coming out from under his cap. They were facing away from her, ordering from the bar, but she knew them at once - Bill and one of the twins! 

Hermione couldn’t breathe for a moment. She had been so sure no one would show that her plan of how to talk to them had grown fuzzy in her mind. Taking a deep breath, she slid from the booth, taking a moment to let her exhausted body adjust to moving. Then she headed to the bar. 

She walked up next to them, smiling at the bartender and asking him for another. As she waited, she looked the brothers up and down. With a flirty smile she asked George if the two were brothers. Bill responded absently that they were, though his eyes were far away as he looked around the bar. 

“How many brothers do you have?” she asked. 

Bill was still paying no attention to her, but George was suddenly staring at her, something in his eyes expressing a depth of emotion - grief, and perhaps recognition. “There are five of us now - we hope,” he said.

Hermione’s mouth dropped open, suddenly remembering the upstairs corridor and the wall falling. “Oh George, no!” she cried, flinging herself into his arms. Bill spun around, surprised to see his brother with his arms full of the woman who had been standing next to them at the bar. She touched Bill’s hand and whispered a quick notice-me-not and then dropped her glamour. 

“Come with me,” she said, and drug them both out the door. 

Bill looked like he was going to say something, but Hermione grabbed each of their hands in one of her own and spun them into apparition before he could speak. Seconds later, they were in the forest with her tent in front of them. 

“Who’s they, Mistress Hermione?” Mimsy demanded, hands on her hips. 

George looked stunned by the words the little creature said. “Mistress Hermione?” he repeated, and then he began guffawing, laughing so hard he couldn’t stand.  
Hermione shot him an irritated look, but couldn’t hold it, laughing herself after a moment. 

Mimsy rolled her eyes, tapped her foot, and finally demanded, “Well? Who they be?”

Hermione cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, Mimsy. These are my friends. Some of the friends I’ve been looking for.”

The little elf suddenly beamed at Bill and George. “Yous must be coming in. Mimsy cook. Yous must eat.”

“Oh, we don’t need…” Bill started, but the look the house elf gave him made it clear that hadn’t been a suggestion. 

Hermione shook her head then. “No, Mimsy. That’s an order. You haven’t cooked yet, have you?”

“No, Mistress Hermione,” Mimsy replied, her tone petulant.

“Perfect. We need to pack up and go with them to an Order safehouse. I am sure there is a kitchen wherever we’re going.” she wheedled. Mimsy’s eyes lit up and she smiled at Hermione. 

“Of course, Mistress. Yous take care of yous books and I’s be packing the rest.”

As Hermione packed her books quickly into her beaded bag, everything else that made the tent homey flew past their heads into a pillowcase. 

George ducked under a lamp and asked, “So you own a house elf?”

Hermione looked up at him with a worried look. “I’m....I’m not really sure if I own her or not. But she’s coming with me.”

George smiled, “I can’t wait to hear this story!”

“There’s so much to tell,” Hermione said. “And so much I want to know! How’s Ron? And Harry! I thought he was dead until I saw them both in the Undesireables list in the paper.”

“They’re both doing fine, Hermione. Harry was out for a few days after the battle, but he’s okay now,” Bill said.

“I’ve been so worried about them! About everyone. Can you take us home now? I can’t wait to see Fleur! Is the baby growing well? I know it’s a big secret, or was, but she told me when we were at Shell Cottage after the Manor.”

Bill’s face fell. George quickly turned Hermione away from his brother to give Bill a private moment. “There’s a lot for you to catch up on, love. Not all of it is good.”


	19. Stories Exchanged

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No trigger warnings this time. But perhaps I should warn you that there is quite a bit of talk about Fred's death and how George is coping.
> 
> I realize (only because I went back and read that bit to see) that in canon, Hermione is actually there when Fred dies. So, I am using my author's magic wand to go back and say it is canon right up until mid-Battle....except when Fred is dying, at which point Hermione is somewhere else. Oh, and the Room of Requirement is still around. Which doesn't matter right now, but probably will in the somewhat distant future. Otherwise totally canon. Unless something becomes inconvenient later.... 
> 
> My alpha, @omnenomnom, is the greatest. The chapter didn’t get beta-ed this week because I was too late finishing my edits. All mistakes are mine. 
> 
> I still don't own Harry Potter.

Monday, May 18, 1998; evening

As soon as George quietly explained what happened to Fleur, Hermione whirled around him. “Bill, I’m sor….”

George caught her shoulder and pulled back as Bill stalked away in the other direction. Tears streaked down Hermione’s cheeks as she looked between the brothers in bewilderment. “He can’t handle sympathy right now. Some things are just too close.” He knew his own voice was shaking when he said the last.

Hermione looked at him for a moment then threw her arms around him for a hug, the second in one day. Somehow, despite shaking off every other person who tried to comfort him these days, George found himself allowing her embrace. Maybe it was because she clearly needed comfort, too, and would need so much more before she finished hearing everything. Maybe it was just that Hermione couldn’t know, for sure, that it was Fred he had lost. Someone would tell her soon, but for now, it was just one of the brothers. It could have been someone less important, Percy or Ron or Charlie. He sucked in a tight breath. Charlie might very well be dead by now, too.

George shuddered at that thought. He knew it was wrong to wish it had been one of the others, knew he would have been upset to lose any of them. But not like this. Not like half of his soul had been ripped out. How was he supposed to go on like this? 

Everyone was worried about him. He knew. He just didn’t have the energy to stay in the world of the living and make other people happy at the same time. Even the people he loved. He knew part of him didn’t even want to see them or anyone else happy. How could there be happiness without Fred? The two of them had dedicated their lives to making people laugh, making them feel joy and happiness. Now it was like that was all sucked away, like maybe all those good intentions were in the part of their soul that had been Fred. 

George was an empty, angry shell without his twin. He only felt alive when he could hunt and kill Death Eaters, go after them as ruthlessly as they had come after the people he and Fred loved. Well, and now. He was far too alive, drowning in it, at this moment.

A small, indignant throat clearing made George jump, then filled him with relief as he moved away from Hermione. The house elf was eyeing them closely. “Mistress Hermione, I can’ts be putting away the tent when yous still in it.”

Hermione sniffled as she pulled away from him. “I’m sorry, Mimsy. We’ll get out.” Looking around, she added in a worried tone, “Where’s Bill?”

“Him is pretending to check yous wards, Mistress. You calls him back. I be packing the tent.”

George helped her out of the tent and started toward his brother. He was surprised when Hermione’s hand grabbed his and pulled back. “Is there anything else I need to know?” she asked, “Before we go back to Bill or before we see Fleur at the cottage?”

His mouth opened. This would be the moment to share so they didn’t have to talk about it more later, but if he put it off, he could hope someone else would tell her when he wasn’t around. Their Gryffindor courage had gone with Fred, too, apparently. He answered gruffly, “Nothing else they can’t handle telling. Her ordeal included most of the prisoners. Oh. And a death eater from your class. Nott, Jr. He’s supposedly on our side now, but Fleur gets upset sometimes when people talk about him.”

“Only sometimes?” Hermione questioned. 

“It’s a bit of a mystery how much he helped them or didn’t. They were obliviated before they got to his manor. So he seemed as kind to them as he could get away with in front of a bunch of death eater guards, but then she wonders if he could have stepped in and saved them before she lost the baby. How she reacts just depends on her mood and the day.” He could see Hermione processing and noting all of that in her mind. 

“I was obliviated, too. It’s terrifying to know that things happened and you don’t remember them. And for something so awful to be a part of that….” she started, but then they were at Bill’s side. 

“We’re ready to get out of here.” George said with a nudge to his brother. 

Bill nodded, though his eyes were still far away. He didn’t ask what they had talked about. George knew he trusted him to have handled it. Their family had gotten adept at saving each other from the stories they each couldn’t tell. 

“Let’s get us all home,” Bill said, offering his arm to Hermione while George held Mimsy’s. 

They were met at the floo by Angelina’s wand and a plethora of identifying questions, as agreed upon. Once they had proven themselves, the girls were all squealing and embracing. George noticed that Hermione was careful what she said to Fleur. 

“I know there’s a lot I need to tell you all, but please - is the Order still operating? You said Harry and Ron are alive. Did…did most people make it out?” Hermione seemed timid about the things she needed to know. 

Bill raised his eyebrows. None of them had realized how little information she had. Stopping her tumble of words, he told her, “Most did. And most of the ones who didn’t have been….recovered one way or another. Professor Flitwick is still unaccounted for.” Bill swallowed hard before continuing. “Charlie and Tonks are prisoners in Malfoy Manor.”

Hermione gasped at that. “I hope they find their way to whoever helped me.”

George cleared his throat. He had been looking for the right time to ask. “How did you make it out?”

Hermione slowly began her tale, what she remembered of it. George couldn’t imagine being mentally thrown from the battle into the situation she had been in, mid-escape. As they listened, the house-elf-that-might-be-Hermione’s had taken over the kitchen from Angelina and, by the smells, was creating a delectable feast. He couldn’t help his Weasley stomach; George loved house elves.

“I have so many questions about what has happened to me, but the biggest mystery is the bond.” Hermione stated uncertainly.

“What bond?” George asked.

“It’s like a magical thread,” she explained. Gesturing to the west, she continued, “It goes off that way somewhere. I think I could follow it if I wanted to. My magic...wants to follow it.”

Bill was leaning forward all of a sudden, “What does it look like?” he asked.

Hermione was contemplative for a moment. "Sometimes, when something is happening, I can feel it shimmering golden. But the rest…”

“You feel it shimmering gold? Shouldn’t that be something you see?” Angelina questioned.

“Yes,” Hermione agreed hesitantly, “I know it doesn’t really make sense. But I can’t see it with my eyes, only feel it there. And sometimes it shimmers. The rest of the time it’s just a plain white thread that I don’t even notice unless I’m thinking about it.”

“You said it shimmers when something happens,” Bill led the conversation. George wondered what his brother was thinking. He knew that look. Bill was trying to pin down the sort of magic they were talking about.

“Yes. Sometimes it’s just a little bit. I feel an empty, aching feeling and it shimmers a bit. There have been a couple of times that there was pain that wasn’t mine. Just this week, I’ve had a rough few days because whoever is on the other end needed my magic.”

“What do you mean, they needed your magic?” George demanded. Something about this worried him.

At the same time, Bill asked, “Are you sure it’s a person on the other end of the thread?”

“Yes,” Hermione replied. It was obvious she was quite certain. “The emotions I get sometimes. They belong to someone who is in a dangerous and desperate situation. I don’t know who it is, but I have to assume it’s someone who had been captured.”

“You’re sure it’s a prisoner?” Bill asked. 

She gave him a frustrated look. “No, I can’t be sure. But it makes the most sense. I suppose it might be one of the people who helped me escape. I imagine the Death Eaters would be more than willing to exact their revenge on them.”

Bill looked concerned. “Do you think you could track the connection to the other person if you wanted?” She nodded and his face paled. “I need to consult,” he rushed to say, then turned quickly and headed for the floo. 

“Oi! What are you doing!?” George started to follow him. 

“No!” his brother’s tone was panicked. “George, you have to stay here and protect them. I’ll be back soon.” With that, he said, “Headmaster’s office, Hogwarts,” and was gone.

Hermione looked worried. She had, of course, followed Bill’s line of questioning. “Oh Merlin! I didn’t consider…. Even now I may be putting everyone in danger.”

“How?” Angelina asked.

“If I can follow the thread to that person, they can follow their end to me. I shouldn’t be here!”

“Don’t you dare disappear again!” George found himself shouting. Hermione looked completely taken aback. He took a shaky breath. “You haven’t seen Harry and Ron yet. They didn’t know we were coming to get you tonight. They don’t even know for sure that you’re alive. Bill will be back soon and he’ll have a plan.”

George felt awful. When he mentioned Harry and Ron, her composure had slipped and tears begun spilling down her cheeks. He was such a git, he berated himself. “Why don’t we tell you everything that has been happening with us while we wait? You won’t believe how Harry and Mum…."

“Oh, your Mum! I forgot to even ask about her. I saw her go down. Bellatrix…” Hermione began to cry harder. 

“Bellatrix didn’t kill her, just knocked her out. Ginny and Snape brought her and Harry out of their comas...with pie.”

“Snape’s alive? Wait…pie?”

“Kitchen witchery,” George explained. Like Mum does, only more precise thanks to the Dungeon Bat.”

“And now it time for Mimsy kitchen witchies. Eats yous food,” Mimsy interrupted. She was levitating in a number of trays, each one filled to the brim with delicious-smelling food.

“Yes, ma’am!” George exclaimed, tucking into the plate he had filled. He leaned over to Hermione and loud-whispered, “I like her.” She laughed through the last of her tears and began nibbling at her food as the others filled her in between bites.

Mimsy was happily refilling trays as soon as anyone took something off of one. Hermione was taking a small bite each time the little elf glared at her, while sipping her minty tea between exclamations at the things her friends had to say. 

It was Fleur who finally mentioned Fred. George had been dreading it, bracing for it. But he still felt her words like a punch to the gut. “It eez so good to ‘ave you here, George. You ‘aven’t come out of your room seence Fred died….” 

Hermione gasped. “Fred?” Her voice held disbelief. When she turned to him, her eyes were filled with a distress that echoed in George’s heart, in his lungs as he tried to pull in air. Hermione continued, “How? Fred… I should have asked who…. I just…wanted to forget, I suppose. That someone was gone. But, George….how could…”

“How could I have let Freddie die and stayed here without him?” George knew his tone was bitter, angry. He knew what he was saying would just upset her more. But it was better than pity. It was better than them all seeing that he was just half a man, less than half, with the loss of his twin.

“I would never say something like that, George!” Hermione cried. “I would never think that. Fred would be glad you’re still here, no matter what happened. I was intending to beg your forgiveness for not asking.”

“I wasn’t there! A bloody wall fell on him and I wasn’t there to help him. I would have shielded him. I would have…”

“You just would have died, too.” Angelina tried to reason.

“No. I could have died instead. Fred should still be here!” George shouted at her. 

“It eez time to calm down, George. There eez no need to be so angry. It won’t bring him back.” Fleur was looking at him with the pity he couldn’t stand.

“Well I’m angry whether there’s a need to be or not.” he growled. George felt the anger spiking. He felt his magic pulsing, looking for something to explode. A release of all this pain and sadness and anger was what he fucking needed. He leapt to his feet and started toward the front door.

Angelina stepped into his path. “Did you forget that you’re supposed to be helping me protect Fleur and Hermione?”

George took a step back. His body was shaking with pent up energy. He wished a troop of Death Eaters would appear so he could attack, fighting blindly until every last one of them were dead. Maybe if he protected enough other people, killed enough Death Eaters, he would someday feel like he had done enough. He knew it was bullshit. Nothing would ever be enough to make up for him losing Fred, for not being there when it mattered. But what else could he do?

“You ‘ave to put all this behind you,” Fleur told him. “We are all ‘urting, but it eez not helping to act like this.”

The windows exploded along the walls nearest them. All three girls screamed, but George just laughed. It didn’t sound like his laugh. It sounded like splintered glass. He couldn’t seem to stop it either. He felt like he was going to explode next, just shatter into a million pieces.

He jerked as a small hand touched his arm. “George?” Hermione’s voice was tentative. The crazed laughter finally stopped and he felt himself vibrating instead. “It’s okay to feel the things you’re feeling. You have every right to be angry. They took half of you away. It’s okay to make them want to pay for it.”

George stared at her. No one had said that before. The room was quiet, Fleur and Angelina just watching them. The energy coursing through his veins suddenly began to spill out his eyes, tears streaming.

Hermione gently touched his wet cheek. “George…. is it too much or may I hug you?” She asked softly. 

At first, he shook his head, pulling away. He wrapped his arms around himself for a second, thinking about hidden moments his twin would hug him and let him cry when things seemed bad. Merlin, he hadn’t known what bad was back then. They always had each other to take care of and lean on. How dare Fred leave him here alone? How fucking dare he!? With that thought, that horrible thought, George sank to his knees and reached for Hermione. “Please?” 

Before he could blink, she was on the ground next to him, arms snaked around him, allowing his head to rest on her shoulder, hidden in the wild tumble of her hair. He didn’t know how long they sat there. George couldn’t hear anything except his own sobs and the soothing tone of Hermione’s voice. He had no idea what she was saying, but she had already given him what he needed most - permission to feel it all.

George eventually realized all his excess energy was gone. He felt empty, but in a better way than he had been. He sat there listening to the steady beat of her heart, his head having slipped down by her chest. She was petting his hair and still whispering soothing words. She had the patience of a saint, he decided. Slowly, he began to notice the world around them again. Fleur had repaired the windows. Angelina was talking with the French witch, who looked more than a little upset.

The floo suddenly whooshed to life. George sprung up, wand drawn, and jumped in front of the fireplace as the rest of them drew their wands. Bill stepped out with Headmistress McGonagall coming through behind him. Fleur ran to her husband and began speaking rapid French. George decided he would ignore the potential confrontation for now. There were more important things to discuss than his breakdown.

“Professor!” Hermione cried, and practically ran Bill over to get to the older woman. 

“Call me Minerva, child. You’re no longer just a student,” McGonagall said as she fiercely hugged Hermione back. “What you’ve been through...I wish I knew exactly what happened to us from the battle on, but what bits I heard and the story Bill told me - your courage is as Gryffindor as I could ever hope. You’ve made me proud.”

Hermione glowed under her praise. “I’m so glad you were able to escape, too!”

After a quick glare George’s way, Bill cleared his throat. “I think there were a number of things we must discuss tonight.”

“Yes, well,” McGonagall said, “There is the matter of this magical bond. I need to do some tests on you, Hermione.”

She began waving her wand and bits of sparkling magic appeared around Hermione. Suddenly, everyone could see the tiny cord of magic stretching out to the west. “It looks just how it feels,” Hermione said with a tone of wonder. George found himself almost smiling at the fact she could still see magic as something amazing even after all the bad parts of it she had encountered. It reminded him there was hope.

After a few minutes, she nodded abruptly and canceled the spells. “May I see your hand?” she asked. Hermione of course held both hands out for her, palm up. McGonagall ran her finger over a scar there. “This was done with a cursed blade,” she muttered.

“It feels just like the cuts on my arm,” Hermione said, a sadness in her voice, with steel beneath.

McGonagall nodded thoughtfully then said, “I believe we’re in luck. Bill and I were discussing the situation with Dumbledore’s portrait. Though the tool used for whatever binding ritual was done to you must have been dark, it doesn’t seem like the bond itself is. We are sure, too, that even if the person is capable of following you, they will not be able to follow you to any place concealed by the Fidelius Charm.”

“So Shell Cottage is safe?” Hermione asked for confirmation. She looked relieved.

“Yes, my dear,” McGonagall said fondly. “I don’t know that this will be the place we leave you, but it’s safer than Hogwarts for you until we can figure out how to Fidelius the place.”

“Put all of Hogwarts under a Fidelius Charm!? That would take a tremendous amount of power!” She looked intrigued. George had seen that look before. As much as she had gotten on to Fred and himself, there had also been a look of admiration over some of their most inspired inventions. 

“It’s not the only defense we’ll have, but it’s one Professor Snape and I are working on.”

“You and SNAPE?” George heard himself burst out. “How can we trust him with something so important!?”

Headmistress McGonagall looked down her nose at him. “Kindly remember that he has been my friend and colleague for almost a decade. I have watched his memories and am certain they were not tampered with. I trust him impeccably.” She sniffed. “To satisfy the fools who do not, he won’t be involved when the spell is actually cast. His help in research, however, is priceless.”

Turning back to her lost student, she continued, “There is actually a separate project I need you to begin working on, Hermione.” The girl nodded with enthusiasm. George shook his head at how much she loved an assignment. McGonagall continued, “We have been working to rebuild Hogwarts but stopped when we realized that ancient wards were worked into the building itself.” 

Bill stepped in, “If we don’t find a way to rework them, the structure of the very building as well as its value as a fortress will be compromised. Hogwarts should be the safest place in Britain. Right now it is vulnerable to practically any attack.”

“We’ve lost the Auror’s best ward specialist, but Bill is better than he was anyway. He will be helping you,” McGonagall beamed at Bill as though she were a proud parent. “I have high hopes that the two of you together will find our solution.”

Hermione happily accepted the challenge. 

“Now, there is also the matter of this...house elf,” McGonagall’s voice faltered questioningly as she eyed Hermione’s suddenly red cheeks. “You felt it safe to bring her here?”

“She...I...Honestly, Minerva, I don’t know what to think about her. Has Bill told you what he knows about her?”

“Yes. I find it highly suspicious that someone would give you a house elf in such a manner.”

“Dids the Madam be talking about Mimsy?” a small voice piped up indignantly. She had walked right up on the Headmistress’ other side without anyone noticing. 

McGonagall looked taken aback by the little creature’s daring. “I am, in fact,” she finally managed.

“Mistress Hermione is Mimsy’s family. Mimsy nots ever betray hers family.” Her fists were balled up on her hips and her face looked pinched. George wanted to laugh, watching these two fierce personalities face off.

“Why would your Master give you away to her?”

The elf pulled down on her ears, opening and closing her mouth like she wanted to say something but couldn’t. She finally settled on, “Hims knew Mistress Hermione is mines family now.”

“How are we to know that he didn’t tell you to say that while spying for him? If Hermione is your family, you must understand we want her to be kept safe.”

Mimsy glared and repeated, “Mistress Hermione is mys family.” With no hesitation, she added, “If Master woulds ask me to spys, I woulds say hims a bad boy and punish him like whens he was a little boy if hes not be good. Hims know Mimsy mean business.” She shook her finger at all of them and it was impossible not to believe that she meant it. 

No one said anything to that. The headmistress seemed unsure of how to argue further. 

Mimsy rolled her eyes and said, “Theys be a spell yous wizards can do on Mimsy. To knows my family. The bad man checked all the elfses to know who belongs to whos.”

McGonagall and Bill exchanged looks. Bill stepped forward. “I am familiar with a similar spell, but not one that would identify a family by name. It shows the connection to the people they are bound to. If some are far away, it will show a connection beaming off toward them.”

“Yous good wizard,” Mimsy said as she presented herself willingly. Bill quickly said the incantation and waved his wand quickly around the elf and the rest of the room. She spun with the strength of the magic wrapping around her, then a line of orange light ran directly from her to Hermione. The line was made of two parts, a darker segment and a lighter, intertwined and then wrapped around Hermione, sheathing from her heart to her abdomen, the darker part focused on her heart area and going lighter toward the bottom.

George saw the puzzled look on his brother’s face and then watched his eyes grow round. He wondered what that meant. Bill shook his head to clear it and glanced around the room. There were no other beams of light heading off into the distance. 

“It appears I owe you a sincere apology, Mimsy,” Headmistress McGonagall addressed the little elf.

Mimsy nodded once and then bowed, “Yous must keeps our Mistress safe. Mimsy appreciates yous.”

“I believe that’s all for tonight, then. I will take my leave. The school often needs my guidance even with so few children,” McGonagall said. She gave Hermione another hug and then went back through the floo.

*******************************

Hermione woke early the next morning, indulgently stretching in the comfy bed. Shell Cottage always seemed luxurious to her, no matter how frightening the circumstances that brought her there. She really must visit here when something terrible wasn’t happening. Someday. When the war is over, she thought.

There was so much to do to get to that point, though. The first order of business would be to plan her research tactics. Humming happily, she rummaged through her beaded bag for a notebook. Though there was a lovely little writing desk in her guest room, Hermione decided she would go sit in the kitchen with a cup of tea. The sun was still low enough that she might have beaten Mimsy out of bed, so she wouldn’t have the mint tea she had become accustomed to, but a warm cup of regular tea would feel nice as well.

Down in the kitchen, she found a mug that fit her hands perfectly. She sat down, sighed, and began her list. It took her only a moment to dive in and get lost in her own world. An hour later, she was so busy scrawling across her notebook that it took her a moment to even realize someone else had entered the kitchen.

Bill was quiet, so perhaps that wasn’t such a surprise. When he spoke, she nearly knocked her teacup over. “How are you feeling, Hermione?” 

She squealed, probably waking the whole house. Her cheeks immediately tinged pink. “You scared me, Bill,” she said, when her heart began to slow. “Before that I felt fine,” she laughed.

He smiled, but seemed to have something more to say as he prepared his own tea and began making some eggs and toast. Hermione waited, not wanting to lose herself in her notes again when he clearly intended to talk some more. 

“You said you can only remember things from the time you arrived in Paris? Other than the battle itself, that is.”

“Yes,” she answered. “It’s frustrating. Anything could have happened. All I know is that Mimsy says it was Blaise Zabini who brought me to the house before obliviating me and apparating away. Why would he do that?”

“Is he someone you knew before the war?” Bill queried.

“Only vaguely. He is a Slytherin. He didn’t harass us like Malfoy always did. He seemed well-liked both among the Slytherins and the Hufflepuffs, I think. I can believe he’s a decent human being. But….” Hermione wasn’t sure she wanted to share the one detail she had held back so far. 

“What is it?” Bill asked, leaning forward.

She blushed. “When I woke up, I had no clothes. Mimsy had to take me upstairs in the villa to grab robes. It was part of why everything felt like such a terrifying rush to get out.”

Bill’s jaw had dropped, his face had turned red, and then his eyes went hard and angry. It was an expression she had seen countless times, though not often on this particular Weasley.

“Do you think Zabini...hurt you before letting you go?”

Hermione didn’t answer for a moment. She didn’t know what to say. Of course he could have. Or some other Death Eater could have before he got her away. There was no way to know and it made her feel crazy.

“I just don’t know, Bill,” she finally replied. “I don’t want to think he would have - or anyone else - but we’re dealing with Death Eaters. There is no way to tell what they would or wouldn’t have done.”

“Who might have done what?” Angelina asked with a yawn.

“Oh just talking about the twins and a joke one of them may have pulled,” Bill lied smoothly. He blinked hard to shake the anger away from his expression and make his wolfish grin look more real. Angelina had frozen at the first look on his face. 

“Oh no!” Hermione broke the tension with a sudden realization, “Last night, I didn’t ask Professor McGonagall when I could see Harry and Ron! We still have a bit of our task to do, I think.” Her brows scrunched as she tried to remember whether the snake had been killed. As far as she knew, it had not. So one more horcrux and the creature Voldemort himself. She grimaced to herself, but then shook the darker thoughts away. “Um...does anyone know if…. Riddle’s snake made it through the battle?”

“That nasty giant thing?” George groaned as he stumbled in. He started to prep some tea, but as he knocked his cup over, Mimsy shooed him away, bringing a full cup to him once he was sitting. Hermione wasn’t entirely sure when the little elf had arrived in the kitchen, but she was quickly creating the biggest breakfast Hermione had seen in some time. 

“Her name is Nagini. She is definitely giant and nasty,” she agreed. 

“As far as I know, she wasn’t at the battle at all. She obviously had taken out Snape earlier in the evening,” George paused at how vigorously Hermione nodded to that, “but he was the only person she seemed to have attacked. None of the dead had been bitten. And only a potions master who had been prepared for her could have survived.”

Hermione contemplated that. One way to keep his pet safe was definitely to keep her away from the fight. And he had known by the time the battle started that his other horcruxes were compromised. She needed to get to Harry and Ron and find out what they were planning to do about that snake. She added it to one of her lists.


	20. News

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No trigger warnings for this one either! Is that two chapters in a row? What am I even doing with this story these days? 
> 
> I really can't think of anything I need to say about this one. If anyone is reading this one as well as Less Than Pure, I *swear* I'm working on an update for that one, too. The holidays have taken more of my writing time than I had anticipated.
> 
> As always, I don't own Harry Potter.

Tuesday, May 19, 1998; morning

They had arrived so late the night before that none of them had gotten a good look around the place. It was large - not quite a manor, but Harry decided he would describe it as a mansion. He had no idea how many bedrooms there were, but enough that he, Dean, Theo, and Goyle each had their own rooms and there were still more than they could count available. 

Wandering out from his room, Harry followed his nose down the long hallway to the stairs, headed down to the first floor, and quickly found the kitchen. To his surprise, Theo was standing in his pajama pants cooking breakfast. There was water boiling for tea and, to Harry’s delight, a pot of coffee already brewed. 

He barely managed to acknowledge the other boy in his rush to get to the life-giving elixir. Pausing just before he began to chug it down, Harry stared dubiously into the cup he had just poured.

“It’s not poisoned,” Theo responded without even looking back. “I put that in the pancakes.”

Harry laughed before he could stop himself, then took a tentative sip of the coffee. It tasted perfect and he found himself draining the rest of the cup and pouring another.

“I hope you’re hungry, too,” the curly-haired boy said with a chuckle, “I learned to cook from house elves and they cook in large quantities.”

Harry gaped at him for a moment. “You learned to cook from house elves?” He had assumed the Nott heir was another spoiled pureblood brat. 

Theo’s sapphire eyes sparked for a second, and his lips pinched together. Then he sighed and nodded, “Hard to believe, I know.” He didn’t offer any further explanation, just gave Harry a winning grin as he set a plate piled high with food in front of him and took the nearest chair for himself. 

“Should I wait for you to finish eating so I know what the poison does?” Harry said, smiling so that Theo would know he wasn’t serious. 

“Not on the first day,” Theo scoffed. “I have to wait until you trust me.” He took a big bite of his food and chewed contemplatively. “And for the new recruits to arrive so I can pin it on one of them,” he deadpanned. Harry blinked, wondering if the other boy could be serious. But then Theo was grinning again and Harry found himself smiling a bit, too.

Both boys busied themselves eating. Harry cherished his coffee and looked around. The kitchen was very functional. It wasn’t a space meant for entertaining. This table seemed like it was there more to sit and prep food than for eating. He supposed there was a formal dining room somewhere nearby. 

Goyle lumbered in, with Dean coming in behind him. Goyle looked especially pleased to see the huge spread Theo had created. Shocking the two Gryffindors, as they had never heard him speak before, Goyle mumbled, “You’ve outdone yourself this time, Nott.”

“Thanks, Greg,” he replied, grimacing slightly at being referred to by his last name. 

They were all quiet as they finished eating. Harry’s thoughts as he poured himself another cup of coffee were dreary. People were going to die because of him and he had been pulled from the fight. The whole castle could go down in flames and he wouldn’t even know until it was too late. Something could happen to Ginny. Or Remus, the last of the Marauders. He still hadn’t properly mourned Hagrid or Fred or the little Creevey boy. Neville was still in the hospital wing. What if something happened to another of the Weasley’s? They still didn’t have Charlie back. Or any idea where Hermione was. Who was going to go after them if he was being sidelined?

His “mission” was to sit here with two Slytherins and Dean - who was undoubtedly there as much to keep him in line as the other two - and...he didn’t even know what. Just exist. He stared glumly into the cup of coffee. Staying busy had been easy in the castle, rebuilding to do, the excitement of real missions to go out on, Ginny to distract him when everything else was calm. He wasn’t sure he could hold himself together without all that. He suddenly had an even deeper understanding of how Sirius had felt when he was trapped hiding at Grimmauld Place. Harry was angered to think that, though prettier, he had essentially just been welcomed into a prison himself. McGonagall had been very clear that this was where he was “needed” for the foreseeable future, Harry thought bitterly.

Theo stood and began putting away the leftovers that would keep, setting the dishes to clean themselves as he went. He spoke as he worked, “What’s the plan for us here, Lions? I assume you two are in charge.” 

His voice was friendly, with no hint of anger, just a statement of fact. Harry wondered if this was some kind of Slytherin plot or if the other boy was genuinely fine being commanded by Dean and himself. Harry exchanged a glance with Dean. He knew he hadn’t been given any instructions, but maybe they had told Dean more?

Dean cleared his throat and tried to speak. Harry realized as he watched the other boy that he might not have been the best choice to keep them all in line. Finally, Dean managed, “Well, I believe we’re supposed to get to know the two of you a bit better. And some new recruits will be joining us soon. Harry and I’s job is to keep people here until we are sure they’re trustworthy.”

Harry groaned, “Dean, I don’t think we’re supposed to tell the people who aren’t trusted that we’re the ones deciding if they’re trustworthy.”

“Why not?” Dean asked earnestly. All Harry could do was shake his head. Even he wasn’t naive enough to think that was a good idea. He was thrown off by Theo’s laughter. Goyle was chuckling, too.

“Because you can’t trust us not to fake our trustworthiness if we know that’s what you’re doing,” Theo explained through tears of laughter. 

“I thought we already knew that was what they were doing and what we were doing,” Goyle said with his forehead scrunched up.

Theo clapped him on the back. “Indeed, Greg. But we are also not supposed to let them know that we know that. I can see the Lions are going to rub off on you quickly.” He dodged backward as he said it, knowing Goyle would come after him. The other boy didn’t disappoint, though his boisterous “attack” was playful. 

Harry watched in something like awe. He had never seen Goyle act playful. He had never dreamed that Slytherins were capable of a good laugh that wasn’t based on someone else getting hurt or put down. He had already felt a pull toward Theo. Perhaps getting to know both boys would be an interesting way to pass the time. 

OooOooOooOooOooOooOooO

Ginny sat sadly at the Gryffindor table. She was pushing her food around the plate listlessly. She really couldn’t believe that Harry had been sent away, and with almost no warning. She understood why he had to be safe, of course. She was glad he was. But she wanted to be there with him. Most of her friends had been up and gone before she got up. The whole castle was a hive of activity, but Ginny just didn’t feel like throwing herself into the work that needed doing today.

“Are you moping, dear?” her Mum asked, tone somewhere between sympathetic and exasperated.

Ginny mumbled an answer. Of course her mother knew she was moping. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her mum roll her eyes at her, smiling at her friend Miss Eliza Turnbuckle. 

“Now listen here, girl,” the ancient witch said. Miss Eliza was pushing 200. She was well respected since she was such a dear, sweet thing. Well, she was sweet until she was angry. Then she would rise up to her full height, almost 6 ft, and pull out the twisted branch that was her wand. At that point, she was well respected out of terror. 

“I know there are many who think I’m just your typical witch from the woods, living alone with my cats and kitchen garden. But I’ll tell you - you don’t get as old as I am letting pretty boys into your life.” Miss Eliza was punctuating every word by poking her fork into the air. 

Despite herself, Ginny had to smother a laugh. “I believe you Miss Eliza. Mine is already taking years off of mine,” she said. She did not say that she would rather die earlier and keep her pretty boy if she had anything to say about it. But she certainly thought it.

And that thought put her mind back where it should be. She was here to ensure that the war kept moving toward Harry’s win against Voldy. She wasn’t going to sit around and whine about being lonely. She still had so many people standing by her here. And maybe she should emulate Miss Eliza and get a cat or ten. Ginny giggled to herself. She was suddenly in a much better mood and ready to get back to work.

She was just pushing back from the table when George walked in. Not only did he walk into the Great Hall, but he was half smiling. He was also heading straight for her. Ginny gaped at him. Her brother hadn’t been out of his room in almost a month except to go out on raids. He was reckless and ferocious during battles. Otherwise, he might as well have died with Fred for all they saw him. 

He caught her shoulders in his hands and pulled her into a rough hug. “Ginny, love,” he whispered in her ear, “Come with me out to the lake. I have some news.” Over his shoulder as he headed back out, he called, “Love you, Mum!”

Ginny’s eyes widened fractionally at him and then rushed to follow him out. His long legs were striding out of the hall, out through the entrance, and across the grounds almost as fast as they could carry him. Ginny had to run to keep up. Just when she was considering Accioing her broom, he came to an abrupt halt, turned and grabbed her around the waist, swinging her up into the air like he used to when she was little. She squealed much like she used to as well. 

“She’s alive!” he cried out. “She’s alive and well and at Shell Cottage!” 

His excitement was contagious, but Ginny was a bit confused. “Who?” she laughed. 

George looked momentarily gobsmacked before laughing and telling her, “Hermione! She’s okay. She’s BACK!”

“Thank Merlin!” Ginny exclaimed. She couldn’t even say how much she had missed that witch. Harry and Ron had been beside themselves without her.

George laughed again before confiding, “And she’s got herself a house elf.”

A surge of anger blew through Ginny and her eyes welled up. She hadn’t thought he was up to acting happy over a joke yet. Outraged, she punched her brother in the gut. “How DARE you?”

“How dare I what?” George wheezed.

“How dare you joke about something like this! How could you make up something so cruel? I was about to owl Harry and Ron. I should know better than to trust you.”

“No, no! I swear it’s not a joke, Gin.” George backed away, looking seriously frightened. He actually knew quite well how dangerous Ginny could be when she wanted to be. “Please don’t tell me you’ve been practicing your Bat Bogey even more lately,” he begged.

She gave him an evil glare. “Of course I have, you git. Just for arseholes who think they can make fun of me for worrying about my missing friends.” Near the end, her words started to dissolve into tears.

George looked more upset than she had expected as he pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to her. “I’m not making fun of you, Gin. I wouldn’t joke about this.”

Ginny didn't believe him, but said, “So you’re telling me your mission yesterday was to...what? Find Hermione?”

“It was to retrieve her. And we did - Bill and I! She’s safe.”

Ginny stared at him hard for a moment before nodding. “We’ve got to tell Ron!” she said abruptly, and took off at a run, George following behind.

OooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooO

As always, Ron was in the Headmistress’ office, plotting the next moves of their ragtag “army.” The latest intelligence warned of an attack on muggle London coming up soon. They didn’t know exactly when, just that it was imminent. He couldn’t believe it, but he was wishing for a source like Snape, at least someone as reliable as he had been. Still, at least they had someone. Even though their knowledge was often vague, it hadn’t proved incorrect thus far. 

Staring hard at all the papers and maps before him, he pulled a quill and parchment nearer, jotting off notes for several people. He would brief a group soon and have them ready to apparate to London at a moment’s notice. It would be tricky, but hopefully they could stop too much damage from occurring. He had just sent the last note flying when the Headmistress walked in. 

“Weasley,” she said with a nod at him.

“McGonagall,” he said with a nod back. Ron couldn’t get over his own amusement that he was no longer required to call her by a title. 

“I have something important to discuss with you if it’s not an interruption.”

He gave her a quizzical look. “If it’s important, then it’s not an interruption.”

She nodded, but explained, “It’s of a more personal nature at the moment. Not that she isn’t an important addition to our arsenal, but...I think you will want to know this before I announce it at dinner this evening.”

Ron was intrigued now. Seeing she had his attention, McGonagall continued, “Miss Granger has returned to us.”

Ron leapt up so fast that his chair fell back. “Hermione is here!?!” He started to rush for the door.

“Slow down, Mr. Weasley,” she rushed, “She is not here at the castle, but she is no longer lost to us.”

“What?” He skidded to a halt. His heart was beating frantically, every fiber of his being focused on Hermione. “What do you mean?”

“Due to circumstances, she will be unable to come to the castle until we have figured out the Fidelius Charm.”

“Fine. Let’s go!” He started heading to the floo. “Which house is she at?”

McGonagall caught his arm, pulling him lightly back. “We will not be going anywhere, Mr. Weasley.”

His face contorted with sudden rage. “She’s my best mate! My...I love her. I need to see her!”

The older woman lifted an eyebrow at him. “I am aware that your relationship with Miss Granger makes you want to see her, but it would be unwise to allow our primary tactician, the General of our army, off the premises, and quite dangerous for her to come here."

“What’s wrong with her? Why does she have to stay under the Fidelius?” he demanded.

McGonagall sniffed as she replied, “It is not something I am at liberty to share as it’s rather personal in nature.”

Ron was grinding his teeth. How dare anyone keep him from Hermione? If Harry were here, he would demand to see her and it would just happen. Sometimes Ron despised the way people treated him so differently than Harry. Even as the supposed General of their army, he wasn’t accorded the same respect Harry had just from surviving Voldemort as a baby. 

His mind whirring with plans, Ron decided to go find Kingsley. He knew the man was fond of the complete trio. Perhaps together they could override McGonagall, gather Harry, and get to wherever Hermione was now. 

OooOooOooOooOooOooOooO

“Ron, ” Kingsley said with a grin as Ron walked in. Remus immediately felt his hackles raise. Kingsley might be oblivious to the redhead’s mood, but he was not. Something had the young Weasley in one of his rages.

“Do you know what she’s done!?” Ron stormed.

Kingsley was immediately taken aback. “What who has done?”

“McGonagall, the old harpy,” he said, eliciting a gasp from the man. Remus pushed back from the table to simply watch. Ron’s temper was legendary. Without Harry and Hermione to keep him in line, he could be very intense and out of control.

Before either of them could process and ask what indeed the headmistress had done, Ron was barging on, “She told me I can’t go get Mione! They’ve found her. And they won’t let me see her!”

Remus felt his jaw drop. Maybe he agreed with Ron for once, though for a different reason. What was McGonagall thinking, holding this information from them? Hermione was back! Thank Merlin. They needed her. But why couldn’t Ron see her? Was she not at the castle yet? Surely she would be soon enough. That was probably it. He was just too impatient to wait for her to arrive.

Some of the same questions were tumbling out of Kingsley’s mouth and Ron launched into another explanation, pacing back and forth in front of them as he gestured wildly with emphasis. “She says Hermione can’t come to the castle until it’s under a Fidelius. So they’re keeping her at a safe house somewhere. But she won’t tell me why - says it’s a personal matter - and she won’t let me go to her, some nonsense about the General not leaving the premises.”

“Ahem…” Kingsley interrupted, “We’ve been meaning to have a word with you about that, Ron. You understand why we had to send Harry away.”

“Of course. It was partially my suggestion. This isn’t about Harry right now!” He stomped to emphasize his point.

“No, but Ron, you are just as much a danger out on the field, just as much a target, as Harry himself. You need to see reason; staying in the castle and using your strategic mind is what we need from you.” Kingsley seemed unphased that the boy’s face was practically turning purple with rage. 

Remus felt that it was troublesome, but...he had a hard time relating to the boy’s problem. Yes, of course he would want to go to Tonks the moment she was found. But if it were somehow unsafe for her for him to see her, he would wait. At least he would know she was safe. That was so much more than he had right now. Watching the boy yell and pace and throw his fit was making Remus’ blood pressure rise. He was ready to take the child down a few notches, as he already had once before. Perhaps, especially this close to the full moon, it was just best if the two of them were not near one another. 

Ron was surprised when Remus suddenly stood and started walking toward the door. “Come on, Remus! You’re with me on this, right? What if it were Tonks being kept from you?” he shouted at the werewolf’s back. 

Remus turned slowly, a growl already sounding deep in his throat. “You know where she is and that she is safe. Be grateful.” With that, he stormed from the room.

OooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooO

Ron blinked and stared at Kingsley for a moment. Some of the fire had drained out of his argument. So he was able to sidle over to the table where Kingsley sat and say in a reasonable tone, “Don’t you think it would raise morale for everyone to see Harry, Hermione, and I together again. We wouldn’t really have to lead anything, just be the figureheads. The three of us belong together.”

Kingsley looked at him with a slightly bewildered expression. He finally said, “I understand your feelings, General Weasley, but surely you understand how you are needed here. We will work to bring the three of you here together, but I will have to discuss the timeline and circumstances with Professor McGonagall before I can make any promises of when that will be.”

Ron turned without another word and barrelled out of the room.

He hadn’t gone ten feet outside the door when he ran straight into Ginny and George, both with huge smiles spread on their faces. Ron hadn’t seen George smile like there was something actually good in the world since the battle. Ginny ran forward and threw her arms around him. “Ron, It’s so wonderful! Hermione’s been found!”

Ron stiffened in his sister’s embrace. “How do you know that already?”

“George told me. His mission yesterday was to retrieve her.” George was nodding behind her. Both clearly expected him to be thrilled.

He felt the rage rushing through him again, zeroing in on his brother. “They sent you on a mission to get her?” he asked, almost too calm.

“Indeed they did, wittle brother,” George said happily, “I’ve held her in these very arms. It’s really her. She’s been through…”

“Why would they send you?” Ron demanded, holding back the anger he felt when he thought about his brother holding her in any capacity.

George crinkled his brow. “I was the first redhead Bill saw? McGonagall rolled some dice and it picked me? I don’t know. Why does it matter? We found her! Well, she found us, really, but we have her back now.”

“I can’t believe she’s really okay!” Ginny gushed. “I was so afraid she…” Ginny sniffled and Ron understood exactly what she had feared. The constant worry about Hermione had been eating at him as well. It had been worse for him, of course, considering his feelings for Hermione and all.

“Did she ask about me?” Ron queried.

“Of course she did! You and Harry were the first people she asked about,” George assured him.

“Yes, she would need to know about Harry, wouldn’t she?” Ron muttered, the familiar jealousy roaring to life, “Of course.”

George nodded, “Poor girl had been going daft trying to figure out if the Order made it out and where we all were and how to contact us safely.”

We. Us. The Order. Ron fumed at the words his brother was saying. Did George really believe that the rest of the people were just as important to her as he was? He inwardly scoffed and prepared to tell his brother just what he thought about that.

Before he could say anything, Ginny looked over at George worriedly. “Does she know about….those we lost?”

“Yeah, I told her about...him.” George’s voice was sad, but not despairing as it had been. “I...she helped me. Helped me a lot. That girl...she’s amazing. I love….”

Ron grabbed the front of his brother’s shirt. “You what? You think you have any right to love her?” Ron hissed, no longer hiding his fury. 

George blinked at him as Ginny tried to pull him off. “She’s my other little sister. And a damn good friend, you git. What is wrong with you?”

When Ron didn’t answer right away or back away from their older brother, Ginny stepped up, wand in hand. “Unless you want to see how I’m developing the bat bogey hex, you better let him go, Ron.” Reluctantly, with a murderous look still on his face, Ron backed away from George.

“How did you even know already?” Ginny asked calmly. She had grown up with six brothers, after all. Murderous rages just happened in the Weasley household sometimes.

Ron pressed his lips together grimly. “McGonagall told me. Said I would want to know before the general announcement. Then the old witch said I can’t see her.”

“What? Why?” Ginny demanded. George, however, was nodding. 

“It wouldn’t be safe right now,” he agreed.

Ron wanted to hurt George again. “Why would you agree with her!?” 

George looked uncomfortable suddenly. “I don’t think it’s my place to explain, Ron. Some things about her have changed,” he said slowly. Then his face split into a grin. “For instance, dear brother, you’ll never believe it, but she got herself a house elf!”

“What? There’s no way!” Ron was jarred out of his furious mood by such a ludicrous suggestion. The brothers argued about it all the way down to the Great Hall for dinner and to hear everyone else’s reactions to the news.


	21. Living Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't believe there are any trigger warnings this week either.
> 
> I thank my alpha, omnenomnom, and my beta, highlyintelligentblonde, for all of their help and commentary.
> 
> Harry Potter is owned by JK Rowling, not me.

Thursday, May 21, 1998; afternoon

Draco was propped up in an infirmary bed at the end of the room. He could stay awake for an hour or two at a time now, a huge improvement from the first few times he had woken since the warding debacle, when he could barely manage a few minutes before he was out again. Blaise told him it was wonderful progress considering. Draco had been furious when he woke there the first time. They were supposed to stop saving him. What the fuck did he have to live for? 

His mother wasn’t allowed near him, and even if she were, Draco wasn’t sure she would speak to him. The one time he had seen her between the night he killed his father and the day of her wedding, she had told him he was no longer her son and she wanted nothing to do with him. He had thought he would find some way to keep the wedding from happening, some way to make her understand how he thought what he did was the only way for things to get better for them. He should have realized it would only get worse, but he truly hadn’t at the time. 

His father. Lucius was the only person Draco had ever killed, despite being stuck in this house of horrors for over 3 years now. Even when he hadn’t been home himself, once the Dark Lord began living there, the pressure had been constant. Draco nearly stopped breathing, thinking of the way he had been manipulated into taking his own father’s life. He hated Lucius for the path he had set their family on, but...he didn’t want to watch him die. He certainly didn’t want it to be at the end of his own wand. He couldn’t think about this. His breathing became erratic every time, the black stain inside him expanding like oily sludge choking through his body. 

Closing his eyes, Draco reached helplessly for the tiny magical thread that he knew was there. He didn’t bother to pull on it since there was never any response, just....focused. There had been a moment the night he first woke, he had felt her. He was sure of it. But there had been nothing since he slammed his mental doors in panic that night. So, Draco occasionally just needed to know the thread was still there, even though that very need was ludicrous. Of course it was still there. The bond was at least partially responsible for his intense melancholy, he thought. 

He felt so….empty. There was so much longing, so much desire still burning in him. Sometimes when he woke, his body was ready for her. He would find himself reaching out for her. But she wasn’t there. He didn’t know where she was, and it was terrifying. More than the physical, he craved knowing how she was. He was more afraid for her than he was for himself or for Blaise, more than for his mother even. He shouldn’t have felt that way. He should, for his own sake, be relieved she escaped this place and that should have been the end of it. He had tried to research bonds, but the book Mimsy had found for Granger, the one she took with her, must have been the only one in their extensive library worth reading on the subject. 

Draco sighed. He had only been awake for an hour so far and he already felt exhausted again. He would have to….

His thoughts cut off abruptly as the door to the infirmary opened and closed. He heard nothing, not even footsteps. He felt his heart hammering. Draco was at the very back of the infirmary with the curtains drawn around his bed and then disillusioned. No one would know he was there unless they went actively looking. Strictly speaking everyone knew he was here. But as long as no one was seeing him, it seemed he was mostly forgotten. He and Blaise had agreed to keep it that way as long as possible. 

Straining his ears, Draco realized he could hear panicked breathing. He wondered if someone was hurt. Should he risk himself to check? Would he know what to do or have the stamina to do it if they *did* need help? No. So he didn’t move, focusing on listening and nothing else. After a few minutes a low, hoarse voice managed, “It’s just me, Drake. I made it back.”

As soon as Draco opened his eyes, they bulged. A very disheveled Blaise had sunk to the floor barely inside the door. Even from the back of the room, Draco could see his eyes squeezed closed and his arms pulled around himself, perhaps to hide the obvious shaking. He could tell his friend’s breath was catching every few moments as though he was too traumatized to remember to keep breathing. He looked like he was overwhelmed with panic.

Despite how tired he felt, Draco drug himself off the bed and moved toward the front of the room, sliding down the wall next to his friend. “What happened, Blaise?” he asked, worried. His friend was pale and twitching. Up close, it was clear he had been crucioed recently. 

With a shaky breath, Blaise began to talk. “I was making my rounds. You know there are people I have to check on daily. Either they want me to check their ‘pets’ or they prefer to be tended to in their rooms. Some want favors from me. Not as many since there have been more pets lately.” Draco put a steadying hand on his friend’s shoulder. He was repulsed that their supposed own side would put him through that, but he couldn’t say he was surprised. Fury burned in his gut, but Draco didn’t have the energy to let it out. Besides, as much as he wanted to rage, that didn’t seem to be what was needed at this moment.

Blaise took a deep shuddering breath and his voice dropped even lower. “I haven’t told you about this, Draco. I couldn’t. I know you don’t agree with the blood purity nonsense and all that, but sometimes you still hate them - the mudbloods or the blood traitors or just people who cross you. I’m sorry.”

Draco felt confused and he wasn’t sure if it was the fuzziness in his head as his body begged for sleep again or if he had reason to be unsure. “You didn’t think you could tell me about the favors they make you do?” He knew better than to think there was anything voluntary involved.

Blaise shook his head, though his eyes looked a little glassy at that. “No. I’m not explaining very well. I mean, there was that, too, but the part I wasn’t sure I could tell you is about helping the pets and the prisoners. I slip potions to those who need them. I give healing when I’m not supposed to. Take letters and send them to loved ones sometimes. Other....anyway. I help them. As much as I can without getting caught. I got caught today.”

Draco’s eyes went wide. Fear coursed through his veins. “What happened?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper he was so horrified. 

“Tonks. That Auror woman. I’ve been taking her a potion every day to keep her from getting pregnant. She’s with Rowle. I think he’s been pretty gentle with her for him, but he could change his mind any time. Probably will after today.” Blaise shuddered. “He didn’t want her on one. I take it he had some kind of crush on her back when they were in school. In his mind he wants to make her a proper wife - she’s Black blood, you know?”

Draco felt startled for a moment before nodding, “I know. I...she’s my cousin.”

Blaise’s eyes went wide. “I had forgotten that. Andromeda.”

“Yeah. Blood traitors, though. So I’ve never met her or anything.”

Blaise nodded, “If you survive this, by some miracle both of you, I think you should try meeting her. She’s wicked.” 

Draco was relieved to see a smile on his friend’s face for the first time since he made it back. It slipped fairly quickly, but it was important that it had been there.   
“She has a baby back home somewhere. She doesn’t need one here. He crucioed me a few times for it. But I would do it again. I will do it again. I don’t even care if he catches me again. Every day I can get her that potion is another chance she might get out of here without another permanent reminder.” Blaise looked grim but determined. 

Draco opened his mouth to argue, but then he realized how unfair it would be considering how much he benefited from Blaise’s devotion. Who else would have followed him into the pit of Death Eaters when he didn’t have to? Of course the bastards had marked Blaise as soon as they could get their hands on him, but when it came out that he had been volunteering with Madame Pomfrey over the last few years, he had been set on this different path. Somehow, when Draco wasn’t looking, the silent, angry Slytherin boy he had grown up with had become this soft-spoken vigilante healer. A younger Draco would have had something to say about how much his friend belonged in Hufflepuff these days. 

The Draco that was here today closed his mouth and put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “If there is ever a way I can help, let me know.” They were both bloody Hufflepuffs these days. Maybe Gryffindors, actually, Draco thought of what he did to make sure Hermione got out. And there was the dull throb of emptiness again.   
“I will,” Blaise replied gravely. Then he pulled himself up off the ground, every movement slow, and offered a hand to Draco as well. “You’ve been awake for almost two hours now. You’re going to need to rest.” His voice was back in healer mode. 

“First, you need to take a potion for those tremors. I know this healer guy who makes just the thing for it,” Draco quipped. His friend rolled his eyes, but grinned.   
When they reached the back of the room, Blaise split off to the potions cabinet while Draco dropped gratefully back into the infirmary bed. As he pulled the curtain back into place and turned to his patient, Blaise was swigging the potion he needed, but had another in his hand. It wasn’t one Draco recognized offhand. He was too tired to comment.

“Hey, don’t go under on me yet,” Blaise said as Draco’s eyes began to flutter. “There’s something important you need to take.” 

Draco focused his bleary too-tired eyes. Then he snapped them open when he realized what the potion was. Flicking his eyes up to Blaise’s, he asked, “Why do I need to take Draught of Living Death? Blaise?”

His old friend sighed and looked at the potion. “I have to give a report to Lord Voldemort tonight on your health. I’m telling him you’ve slipped into a coma.”  
Draco sucked in a breath. “How often am I going to need to take it?” He tried to school his voice to sound brave. The thought of being practically dead for who knows how many weeks or months made him feel sick.

Thankfully, Blaise shook his head. “It’s just for tonight. Just in case the Dark Lord doesn’t believe me and wants to come see for himself.”

Draco steeled himself and drank, collapsing immediately.

**************************************

The castle was mostly empty. The attack had come on the muggles, right in the middle of Piccadilly Circus, teeming with people. They had been lucky. Three Death Eaters had been sighted in the area before it started, so a quick Patronus back to Hogwarts and Remus had been able to dispatch enough people to be a few minutes ahead of the worst damage. The Ministry’s obliviators were going to be very busy later today. If Voldemort even still cared about that.

What mattered to the Order was that they were saving countless lives, according to the Patronus reports regularly coming in. Ron had, of course, insisted on going along, but at least he was staying in touch as promised. So far.

Remus was tired of trying to make that boy see reason. Then again, he didn’t feel much like listening to reason these days either. Not allowing Voldemort to take over the muggles was important work, but Remus had to wonder when his wife would be considered important enough work for a mission. 

He knew he shouldn’t be thinking like that. Yet, as he headed for the hospital wing to assist with the first casualties coming in, Remus couldn’t help but feel that his family deserved at least as much help as the Order was giving the muggles.

************************************

Blaise ducked into his suite and tried to calm his breathing as he felt the wards click into place and took a few moments to reinforce them. Lying to the Dark Lord was one of the most terrifying things he had ever done. If he weren’t living in Malfoy Manor right now, with the constant threats and never-ending terror, he would have been able to say it was the most terrifying. He swore his brain was too jumbled to discern what specific thing was the most terrifying these days.

Lord Voldemort had laughed when Blaise told him that Draco was in a coma he might never come out of. “That’s the best way to keep his blood around for the wards,” he had said. Greyback asked if he could have his way with the body. Blaise was so relieved when their Lord said no. Less relieved when he explained that he wanted the young Malfoy lord to be awake and aware when such things were happening to him, but at least they didn’t believe that time was now. 

He was relieved Voldemort had not insisted on coming back with him. Blaise hated the rare times the snake man had ever come into his infirmary or lab. He would hate it even more with his best friend so vulnerable - and not just from the Draught of Living Death. 

Draco’s magical core wouldn’t heal. Blaise didn’t know why, though his guess was the bond. He needed contact with Hermione to recover at anything faster than a snail’s pace. He was making progress day by day, but so minimal it was hardly noticeable. He had overextended himself and stayed alive on magic alone, presumably hers. Blaise wondered if it was as hard a recovery for her. He knew Draco was trying desperately to hide how much the bond was affecting him. Between it and what happened with his parents, Blaise was concerned for his friend’s mental well-being. Maybe under the Draught of Living Death wasn’t a bad place for him to be right now.

Blaise almost wished he could take it himself. Rowle had been there tonight, Tonks firmly in place beside him. Her face had bruises and a split lip. She was fully dressed so he suspected there was a lot more damage he couldn’t see. He knew he should have worried that Rowle would tattle on him to Voldy, but all he could really think about was what Rowle may have done to her and how long it might be before he was allowed to fix it. Maybe he would be able to tomorrow when he slipped her the potion.

Disgust filled him as he thought about how many “pets” had been on display tonight. The most prominent, of course, had been Bellatrix’s toy. Charlie. She loved parading him around nude, rubbing it in the women’s (and some of the men’s) faces that she had such a gorgeous piece of manhood at her command. Watching the little touches she and the others forced on him had made Blaise’s blood boil. Every casual brush of Charlie’s body was a violation. Blaise’s mind was working overtime to figure out some way to stop it, but he still couldn’t come up with anything. 

He tried not to look at the man. He flushed with shame every time he did, his memories of helping that bitch degrade Charlie still fresh in his mind. Merlin, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He knew he had done what little he could to make it as pleasant as possible, but...he had still done it. Blaise was trying to clear his thoughts when he realized that he was looking again, only this time, the intense fire of Charlie’s blue eyes met his from across the room. It was the look of a fighter, a survivor. Whatever happened, that man was going to fight free of this. Admiration washed through him and he gave the tiniest inclination of his head. Blaise doubted the tiny movement communicated anything useful, but he knew as he held that fiery gaze that he would do anything he could to help.

Blaise looked away. He needed to stay focused on the people he could help now. He had potions to brew and a couple of spells to research to perhaps help with the bond.

*************************************

Friday, May 22, 1998

Remus looked up from his desk as a tall figure entered the room. At first glance, she was similar to Bellatrix Lestrange. She had the same regal bearing, her high cheekbones, perfect posture, the curve of her nose. But this woman’s hair was braided, showing the laugh lines on her tired face. In her arms, gurgling happily, was her grandson, Remus’ baby boy. He was out of his seat in a moment, cooing at his son as he took the tiny little being into his arms. Andromeda smiled, but also gave a sigh of relief.

“He’s two months old soon, you know. He hasn’t seen his mother in weeks,” the woman said. “When are you going after her again, Remus?”

He looked up from his tiny son, whose hair had suddenly morphed pink as though he knew exactly who they were talking about. Remus knew the joy at seeing his son had slid from his face as he took in Andromeda’s look. She was still smiling fondly at the baby, but there was a hard anger in her eyes. This wasn’t fair and they both knew it. 

“It’s a hard raid to plan, Andy. We’ve broken in there once. They’re on guard for us even more now. It’s not fair. I know. I feel like I’m giving them everything and getting nothing in return, but...what else can we do?”

“Remus, I am a patient woman. But I want my daughter back. I know you want your wife. Most important, this little guy needs his mummy. He’s been sick the last couple of nights. It’s the need for her, I think. Some babies just can’t thrive without their parents. Please bring her home.”

He felt his heart breaking all over again. Remus looked down at his son, at his future. He would get her back. He would talk to Ron now. He nodded at Andromeda, too upset in that moment to speak. He handed his son back and said, “I need to speak with the General. I hope you’ll stay in the castle tonight. I need to spend time with Teddy.”

“Of course,” she said. 

Remus threw open the doors of the meeting room, where Kingsley and Ron were chatting today. They had undoubtedly been going over what went right and wrong yesterday and what to do better next time. The two of them were thick as thieves these days. Both of them looked up at him and raised their eyebrows.

“Ron, Kingsley. I need my wife. Teddy has been sick. Andy says it’s because he needs her. We’ve rescued the other prisoners, rescued muggles in broad daylight. I know it’s hard to get back into Malfoy Manor, but it has to happen.” He slammed his fist down on the table.

Their eyes widened as he did. Ron particularly looked intimidated. “Right,” he said, “I’ve been working on a plan, there’s just always so much else to do.”

Remus growled and Ron hurried on, “I mean...it’s not that she’s not important, too. But she’s not going anywhere, you know?” Realizing he had said the wrong thing, Ron put up both hands in surrender. Kingsley stood, trying to intimidate Remus back. 

“The boy misspoke,” the tall man said. “We’ve been working on a plan.”

“It’s inspired by Dobby!” Ron jumped back in. “Kreacher used to go see Bellatrix sometimes, so I figure he should be able to pop a team in the way Dobby popped us out. Well, 2 teams of 4. One for Tonks and one for Charlie. He’s not a huge fan of mine, but he will listen to Harry if he won’t do it for me.”

The room suddenly became a flurry of activity as they decided to put the plan into action immediately. Within the hour, Remus and his team were ready, as was the team for Charlie. Standing here, knowing he was finally going to have Tonks back in his arms, he couldn’t believe he had let them wait so long. 

Kreacher came when Ron called, but he was soon shaking his head. “Would you do it for Harry if we get him?”

“No, sir. Kreacher cannot. The way to Mistress Bellatrix is closed. Kreacher’s cousin came to stay. He was locked out, too.”

Every face was still. Everyone carefully did not turn toward Remus, whose breathing was becoming erratic. He tried to hold onto his temper. His wolf was too close, though. It was only a few days until the full moon. How could he be expected to hold on? Remus screamed, suddenly, a sound like a howl of rage. Before he could hurt anyone, he took off running to one of the unused classrooms - a place he could destroy without hurting anyone else. What else could he do in this moment? Malfoy Manor was a veritable fortress.


	22. Biscuits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Torture, references to rape/sexual slave situation
> 
> The second segment of this chapter is with Blaise, Charlie, and Bellatrix. There is no sex, but she's still cruel and batshit crazy. I'll summarize it at the end.
> 
> Harry Potter is owned by JK Rowling.

Saturday, May 23rd; evening

It came as a Howler, to his private chambers. It made sense, really. Did Greyback even know how to write? Besides, Remus couldn’t quite imagine sitting down to a letter and reading the vitriol his sire had been spewing. He would have ripped it to shreds. He wanted to rip the whole world to shreds. 

… your bitch loves being with a real alpha… 

… the sweet sounds she makes while he ruts her… 

… kill the pup and she’ll forget you ever existed… 

… taking her as his mate at the full moon… 

The phrases he had caught raced through his mind, through his wolf’s mind. Some of it he just hadn’t been able to process once the wolf was snarling so loudly. It didn’t matter, really. It was all the same vein. Greyback had Dora and there was no way to get her back, no way to protect his mate.

It was so close to the full moon. Remus was shaking as he tried to figure out what he could do. The Order was useless to him. They had tried. And he knew they genuinely wanted to help. But there was no way into Malfoy Manor. 

Unless she wasn’t in the Manor. If Greyback had her, if this was true… she might be with the pack instead. She might be where he could get to her. 

He should tell Kingsley and Ron. McGonagall. They would help him, wouldn’t they? His chances of getting to her would be better with help. 

His wolf growled. They couldn’t be trusted. No one could be trusted with his mate. 

Remus fought with the wolf. He should be able to make the choices here. But tomorrow was the full moon, and the wolf was looming large. 

Still, he left the room to seek out the other leaders. He was still a man and he would behave like one. Until he had that mongrel in his grasp and could rip his throat out with his teeth and claws.

  
  


OooOooOooOooOooOooO

  
  


Blaise was stunned when he stepped inside the LeStrange suite. It certainly wasn’t the first time he had walked in on her torturing Charlie, but this was different. She didn’t even notice him coming in, the first indication that something had changed. Bellatrix was ever-vigilant, well known for it. Part of him wanted to slide back into the servant’s hall before she realized she had missed his entrance.

He couldn’t do that, though, not when his help would so obviously be needed. And maybe… maybe he could intervene. 

For a few minutes, he just watched. The man was stretched between the end posts of the four poster bed, hanging by his rope-tied wrists. His back was torn, but nowhere near as badly as he had seen it in the past. Between each crack of her whip, Bellatrix was rubbing him fondly, not in a sexual way, just on his arm or side or face. She was saying something, but Blaise was too far away to hear what it was. Her tone indicated it was a question. 

Stubborn idiot. Blaise knew enough about the red-haired Gryffindor to know that what was going on undoubtedly had to do with a wrong answer to whatever that question was. He wasn’t screaming either, which was likely causing Bellatrix to snap the whip harder. She hated it when her victims didn’t scream. 

Charlie couldn’t hold back a groan when the whip missed it’s mark and slipped around to hit his cheek, nearly hitting his eye. Blaise was surprised that Bellatrix had lost that much control, but he could tell by the way she was fussing at his face, trying to dab the blood away with a cloth, that she had not done it intentionally. Her voice was frantic. As he approached, Blaise heard her words and nearly stopped in shock. 

“You know I don't have to punish you, pet. Please just tell me you’re happy and I can stop. I want you to be happy, darling. Can't you see that?”

What the bloody fuck was this? Blaise was amazed she still hadn’t noticed him. Charlie was too wrapped in his physical torment as she wrenched his head back by the hair to notice much of anything, but Bellatrix should have. He cleared his throat and both heads turned to him. Charlie looked startled, but then relief shone bright in his eyes when he registered it was him. 

Bellatrix was clearly furious… until she wasn’t. Her face transformed as she smiled at him like he was her favorite person. “Healer Zabini!” she simpered. “I think you can help me. Do fetch some happiness potion for me, lovely boy.”

“A calming draught? Yes, of course. I have one right…”

“No!” Bellatrix snarled at him. “A happiness potion. He’s sick and can’t be happy. Give him something that will fix him! I want him fixed!” 

“Sick? What are his symptoms?” Blaise snapped into full healer mode.

“I told you already!” she screeched. Her next words were slow, like she was speaking to someone daft. “He isn’t  _ happy _ . Give him a potion to make him truly happy.”

Blaise stopped his careful approach and raised both hands in front of him in a calming motion. “I’m afraid I don’t know of any potions like that, Madame Lestrange. That isn’t really how happiness works unfortunately.”

She blinked at him. “What do you mean?” 

She seemed honestly confused. Blaise swallowed hard, trying to figure out how to navigate this conversation without making the situation worse. “Happiness isn’t something that can be created for someone. We can do things for other people that may influence them, but happiness comes from inside.”

Bellatrix narrowed her eyes. “So he could be happy and chooses not to be?” Her tone was dangerous and Blaise could see her hand twitching on the whip. 

“No!” he almost shouted. “It isn’t exactly something we decide. It’s more… something that happens to us when the conditions are right. Like… like it would be very hard to be happy while someone is hurting you the way you’re hurting your pet.”

Incomprehension was obvious on Bellatrix’s face. “But I love it when Rodolphus whips me.”

Blaise licked his lips nervously, trying to figure out how to get through to her while she seemed receptive. “Well, different people do enjoy different things, so it is good that brings you happiness. But I think, for your pet, it just brings pain and unhappiness.”

“I’m… I’m making him unhappy?” Bellatrix questioned, her voice breathy with shock.

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” Blaise said, using his most calming voice.

She stormed over to Charlie and Blaise’s heart dropped. Bellatrix grabbed the man’s chin and pulled his head around so that he had to look at her. “Is this true? Am I making you unhappy?”

When he didn’t answer immediately, she jerked on his hair. An anguished sound rumbled out of him and he finally answered through gritted teeth. “Yes, you are making me unhappy.”

Tears slid down Bellatrix’s cheeks. “I just want you to be happy, pet. You know you have to be punished when you aren’t good.”

Charlie’s chest heaved as he tried to breathe with his head pulled at such an odd angle. “I can’t tell you I’m happy.”

“Because you’re not?” she asked, sounding both astounded and desperately sad.

“I’m not,” he repeated, his eyes closing. Blaise wondered if it was the pain getting to him or if he was just too emotionally drained for this bizarre conversation.

Blaise stepped closer, almost between them. “Madame Lestrange, I think it would make him happier if you let me take him down and heal him now.”

“And then he’ll be truly happy?” she asked, like a small child. “He needs to be happy.”

At a loss, Blaise asked, “It would be a start. What kinds of things make you happy?” he asked her. Then, thinking better of that, he rushed out, “What made you happy as a child?” 

Bellatrix looked puzzled for a moment. Blaise didn’t dare move, though he was worried about Charlie. From this close, he could hear a tiny almost hysterical chuckle coming from the man. If he started laughing, there was no telling how Bellatrix might react and Blaise was hoping they were almost at a breakthrough. 

“Biscuits!” Bellatrix suddenly squealed. “Biscuits always made me happy!” She was smiling like she had come up with Lord Voldemort’s next evil plot.

Blaise put a steadying hand on Charlie’s side as he heard the chuckles increase just that little bit more. When it didn’t help, he brushed a finger against one of the wounds, making the man groan instead. He felt bad, but… it was all he could do to save him from himself. 

“Biscuits are delicious. They make lots of people happy,” Blaise acknowledged. 

Bellatrix was radiant. “Would you like some biscuits, pet?”

For a moment, Blaise feared Charlie wasn’t going to answer. “Yes. I like biscuits,” he finally said. 

“They make you happy?” she asked. 

There was a pause again before Charlie said, “If they’re my favorites they make me happy.”

Blaise froze. What was he playing at? Blue eyes met his brown, some desperate message he couldn’t grasp pleading from their depths. 

Bellatrix looked irritated. “Well which kind is your favorite?” 

“My mum used to make these special pumpkin chocolate biscuits. They’re a little tricky to make. You have to put in the chocolate right before they go in the oven or they aren’t quite right. I’m not sure house elves would do it right,” he explained gruffly. 

That was it. Blaise caught where they were going with this now. “Madame Lestrange, perhaps it would be best if you supervise the house elves in preparing these special biscuits so they won’t get it wrong. I’ll take care of this mess while you’re gone.” He gestured vaguely at the bed. 

"And when I come back he'll be happy?"

Blaise didn’t dare look at Charlie. He just nodded and said, “Of course, Madame.”

A dazzling smile crossed her face. “What a splendid idea! I’ll be back in a bit!”

With that, she flounced out the door and Blaise held his breath until he heard the lock click and the wards snap into place. 

“Fuck, she’s crazy,” Blaise swore. 

Charlie snorted, “You have no idea.”

A few words of magic and Blaise had the other man laying on his stomach on the bed. Before he did anything else, he cancelled all the spells Bellatrix had on him. Charlie moaned in relief as his body practically melted into the mattress. 

“You bloody moron,” Blaise muttered angrily as he began healing Charlie’s back. Some of the lashes were going to scar, but it wasn’t as though anyone would know the new ones from the numerous others. Between his former career and his far more dangerous situation here, the man was covered in them. “Why the fuck didn’t you just tell her you were happy?”

“I couldn’t stand it,” Charlie mumbled into the mattress. “I already told her she was a good mistress. She made me say the words. I just… I couldn’t…”

“Alright. Hush,” Blaise said, his voice harsh. Seeing the damage these people did to their prisoners always bothered him, but it was doubly true with the burly dragon tamer, and so much worse when he truly could have stopped it himself with a single word. But when Charlie cringed at the tone of his voice, Blaise felt like he had beaten him, too.

“I’m just worried about you,” he said softly. “And angry that I can’t stop it from happening.” He was done with his back, all the way down his legs. “Turn over, Charlie. Let’s see what else she’s done to you.” He was concerned when Charlie whimpered a bit before slowly following his directions. 

Blaise looked down at him on the bed, scanning over him and noting the places he needed to work on. He was decisively trying not to linger where he most wanted to look but it was hard to ignore. “I’m sorry. I thought I cancelled all her spells.” He started to whisper another  _ finite incantatem _ but Charlie lightly touched his wrist before he could.

The redhead’s whole body had flushed red. It made Blaise feel things he knew he shouldn’t. Charlie’s husky tone didn’t help. “You already did.” He wasn’t meeting Blaise’s eyes and his teeth were gritted together. 

It was suddenly hard to catch his breath through the tension in the room. Blaise closed his eyes and centered himself. “That’s a natural reaction to the healing. It doesn’t mean anything.”

If anything, Charlie’s blush intensified. His cock twitched but Blaise was trying very hard not to notice. “Yeah,” he replied, but it didn’t seem true to either of them. Charlie was staring hard at the wall.

He busied himself with the healing he needed to do, mind whirring about how he should state his next question. It was standard for him when he was alone with any of the prisoners, but no matter how he phrased it right now, with the tension between them, Blaise was afraid it would come out wrong. As he checked the bandage around Charlie’s neck and put a little more salve on the still-ugly wounds, he knew he had stalled long enough. 

“Is there… anything else that hurts?” he stumbled over the words. 

Charlie gave a laugh that was entirely devoid of humor. 

“Shite! Not that,” Blaise burst out. “I really want to know if there’s anything else I can do to help you but no matter how I say it’s going to sound like a come on right now.”

Charlie was laughing for real now. He looked up and their eyes held for a moment before he blushed again and looked away. 

Blaise sighed. “I… I don’t mean that I wouldn’t. If that’s what you need… but I’m not… I would never try to make you… I… bollocks why is this all so fucked up?” 

For a moment they were both quiet. The tension was still there, but it wasn’t quite as intense. Charlie finally spoke. 

“I don’t… need that. It’s… she’s already used me thrice today. And she’s been letting me get off every time lately. That’s what started all this today.” He sat up, shifting so that he could somewhat curl in on himself and hide his body. Blaise sat down a couple of feet closer to the top of the bed, handing over a pillow as he did. 

Charlie nodded his thanks, using it to cover himself, and continued, “I was doing okay pretending. Merlin, I don’t even have to pretend the pleasure anymore. She has me trained - I can’t stop it.” His fists clenched. Blaise wanted to reach out for his hand but feared his touch wouldn’t be welcome. “But it’s different the last few days. She wants it slow and… well, if she were anyone else I would say it’s making love she wants instead of sex.”

Blaise couldn’t hold back his sound of shock. Charlie didn’t even look at him, just continued on with his story. “So I managed, but the third time, I just. I couldn’t fake wanting her again. She got angry. She hasn’t been angry with me in days, not really. And it wasn’t like her anger used to be. She… it’s like she’s obsessed. She doesn’t seem to enjoy hurting me like she did at first. Obviously she still does it, but now it’s like she does it because she thinks that’s just what you’re supposed to do. And, well, you heard her. She thinks that’s what I want.”

Blaise wasn’t sure how to respond. As far as he was aware, Bellatrix had never shown any inclination to care about anyone before this. She worshipped the Dark Lord. She obeyed her husband when it suited her. She enjoyed torturing as many people as possible and as far past their capability to cope as possible. That’s as far as her emotions toward others went. She had never cared about something as mundane as basic happiness.

Charlie’s voice was quiet. “Blaise, I don’t know how to deal with her now. I’ve worked so fucking hard to make her comfortable with me. Its working, but… she’s so crazy, so unpredictable. If I say the wrong thing...”

Without thinking, Blaise did reach out now, their hands clasping without a second thought. 

“Well I can bloody well tell you that when she asks you the same question over and over because she doesn’t like the answer, change to the one she wants to hear at some point before you get yourself killed.”

“I can’t sometimes,” Charlie said, his jaw tightening. 

“Hang your pride. Just get out of this alive.”

“Can I make it out alive if everything that is me dies?” His hand clung to Blaise’s as he asked the question, as much to himself as to Blaise. 

“You…” Blaise started but then there was a sound in the hall. Bellatrix was yelling at someone. She sounded far more like her normal self. “Shite!” Blaise swore. He began quickly casting the spells she kept on the man. “Do you want me to bind you or let her decide how she wants you?” 

Charlie shuddered. “Can you just tie my hands together, please?” 

Blaise doubted she would let him stay that way, but he nodded and did it anyway, pulling his hand out of Charlie’s as he finished. 

The other man tried to meet his eyes but had to look away. There were tears threatening if the glassy look in them meant anything. So softly he almost didn’t hear it, Charlie whispered, “I don’t know how much longer I can keep on like this.”

Dropping into a crouch for just a moment so that their eyes were close, Blaise said, “You can do this. Don’t give up.”

The door sprung open and Blaise was standing with a bored look on his face as Bellatrix excitedly announced that she had the biscuits. Blaise tried not to bite his tongue cleanly off as he watched Charlie put on a perfect performance of loving them. 

“So you’re happy now?” Bellatrix asked gleefully. 

Blaise could see Charlie’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard. “Yes.”

There was a resounding crack as she slapped him hard. Sounding much more like her normal self, Bellatrix demanded, “That’s not how you address me, pet. Yes what?”

“Yes, mistress. You have made me very happy.” Charlie’s voice was strong despite the bruise already blooming across his face. 

“Would you want someone else to take care of you?” She asked. 

Without a moment’s pause, Charlie said, “No, Mistress. I am happy here. Being your pet makes me happy.”

Bellatrix was thrilled, petting him like a dog and entirely missing the looks of absolute hatred that crossed the man’s face when she looked away. 

As soon as he could, seeing that Charlie was as close to safe as possible for now, Blaise claimed additional patients to see and left before he could be sick. 

  
  


OooOooOooOooOooOooO

  
  


It was a rose garden where she was walking. She wasn’t sure where, though there was a giant building off in the distance - a manor, perhaps? The scent of the roses was pleasant. Everything about this place was calming. 

She walked until her legs were tired, enjoying the quiet restfulness. When she needed to sit, a fountain appeared before her, the edge wide enough to act as a bench. She sat down, splashing her hands delicately through the water.

There was a sound in front of her, so she turned to see. A small fox wove in and out of the greenery. As she watched, she felt a weight on her lap. It wasn’t alarming. It felt right. She was idly running her hands through the softest hair as she watched the fox. 

Looking down, she saw a halo of white blond hair framing a pointed but well-crafted face. He was beautiful, almost angelic in his sleep. Of their own accord, her fingers traced his high cheekbones and caressed his full lips.

Silver eyes flickered open, meeting hers and making her shiver from their intensity. He blinked, once, twice. 

“Hermione?” His voice was uncertain, but filled with a wonder and longing that matched something deep within herself. 

She couldn’t seem to speak, but she nodded. She brushed her hand through his hair again, letting her fingers linger along the side of his face. A part of her wanted to lean down and feel his plump lips against her own. He was reaching for her, too. She knew he would pull her down to him and a feeling of completion swept through her just from his touch.

Hermione woke with a start. Was that… had she just had a dream featuring Draco Malfoy? A good dream, at that. She must have eaten something bad the night before or something. 

Sitting up, she was surprised by how very well rested she felt. For the first time in what felt like weeks, she wasn’t empty and restless. Smiling, she decided she might as well get up even though it was the middle of the night. There was plenty of research to do after all.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary of triggering section:  
> Bellatrix is being crazy in a different way. She is obsessed with Charlie being happy and doing out of character things like wanting slow almost "making love" sex and not enjoying hurting Charlie. They convince her to go supervise the elves making biscuits so that Blaise has time to do some healing and he and Charlie have a heart to heart (as well as some awkward sexual tension since Charlie can't hide his physical response) and Blaise encourages him not to give up.


	23. Chances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No triggers. I'm so excited about this chapter!
> 
> I am not JK Rowling and therefore do not own Harry Potter.

Sunday, May 24, 1998; late evening

Hermione was absorbed in her work. She sat at the table in the kitchen, one hand scrawling notes while the other held her book open as she read feverishly. Her hair was a wild mess, with a quill tucked in to hold some of it out of her way. 

She had been going all day, surrounded by books and notes, scribbling here and there about her findings. Fleur was worried about her, she knew, but Hermione was terrified the castle full of her friends would be attacked without proper protection. 

“How can we be almost a month out from the battle and the walls haven’t even been repaired!?” Hermione kept thinking. She didn’t mean to say it out loud, but sometimes she couldn’t help it through her frustration. Poor Bill had looked quite sheepish at having been unable to figure out how to do the wards when she asked.

He didn’t have to explain himself, though. Hermione understood he was one of the best curse breakers money could buy. He was good at wards, but his specialty was breaking through them, not creating new ones with unfamiliar, ancient magic. As far as Bill was aware, and even after consulting with others, it was no one’s specialty. They had a letter out to a witch in Amsterdam who was known for her work repairing ancient wards. That was the closest they had found to someone who might know.

Frustration was getting to her now. Bill had given up and gone to bed already. She was determined not to do that, but there just wasn’t enough information in the books she had. She needed the Hogwarts library. And to scour the Headmistress’ library. She wondered if there was any way she could cloak her bond for a brief period. She would have to talk to Bill about it in the morning. Just a few hours of research would help. 

Hermione rubbed her tired eyes. She had felt so much better in the wee hours this morning, but it had been a very long and mentally taxing day. She knew she was still recovering from the last time she sent her magic along the bond and should rest more, but this was so important. She was happy that at least the ache in her body, that emptiness she often felt, was missing today. But food had been difficult throughout the day. Hermione struggled to keep anything down. Perhaps she actually had a bug of some sort on top of the magical drain recovery.

“Mistress Hermione needs hers bed.”

The girl in question squeaked at Mimsy’s sudden appearance by her side. The problem with Mimsy was that, in such a small space as the cottage, she saw no point in apparating. It turned out house elves were very good at moving around silently when they didn’t make a pop sound each time they did something. “Mimsy,” Hermione sighed, “Please don’t sneak up on me. You scared me!”

“Mimsy be sorry, Mistress,” clearly not a bit sorry. “Yous be up too long. Drinks yous tea I brings you then bed for yous!” Mimsy spoke in her most commanding no-nonsense voice. Hermione internally giggled at how very commanding it really was. She couldn’t quite imagine who must have owned this little elf before and let her boss them around so much. Whoever the mysterious Master was, he must be a decent fellow.

“Yes, Mimsy,” she agreed wearily. She really was too tired to get much else done, even if there had been anything left to research here. Mimsy nodded her head once and then settled into a nearby chair to watch. Hermione smiled into her teacup as she worked on drinking it down. It was amazing how much it helped her stomach calm. With a smile at her mother hen, Hermione headed off to bed.

  
  


*******************************

  
  


Remus paced his room. The wolf had won out - he had told no one of the communication from Greyback. His human side was still trying to think sensibly, but it was hard to know the right path when he so badly needed his mate back. His Dora. Their cub needed his mother. Teddy, his human side reminded.

It was time to head to the Shrieking Shack, but it didn’t feel right. This was his chance, the only one if Greyback was going to mark Dora as his mate tonight. Remus the man might not be strong and powerful enough to break her free alone, but Lupin the werewolf was very strong, very powerful. 

He stared at the wolfsbane potion sitting on his desk. He hadn’t taken it when Snape brought it by. He had it earlier in the week. He wouldn’t change at the first peek of the moon, and when he did change he might still be somewhat in command of his senses. That his goal and the wolf’s were the same meant that it didn’t entirely matter to him whether he was completely in control or not. There wasn’t a Death Eater or dark werewolf he would feel remorse about attacking, and his wolf wouldn’t harm Dora.

Opening a drawer of his desk, he pulled out a small box with the Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes logo on the top. It was experimental, one of their line of Order products, but the twins, back when it was still both of them, had assured him it had been tested twice already and had yet to fail. He had been holding it back in case it was essential for a mission. 

It might be essential for his mission tonight. Yes, Greyback had implied that she was in the forest with him. He hoped it was true because it would make her far easier to find and rescue, but he needed to be prepared in case he still needed to get past the wards of the manor. He only hoped that if it was needed, there would be enough human in control to remember the little box.

Mind made up, Remus wrote a quick note and left it on his desk, in case anyone should come looking for him. Typically, one of the younger ones met him at the Whomping Willow to ensure he got to the Shack safely. It wouldn’t be unprecedented, however, for him to have already gone there earlier in the day. If it weren’t already so late, he would go leave a note saying as much. He was sure they would figure it out, though. Or come here and read this note. Perhaps it would even mean moving their hands on attacking the manor. Whatever happened, he was getting Dora back tonight.

  
  
  


He apparated to a point he remembered in the woods near the Manor. He could already hear howls. He would need to be very careful to avoid the wolves and the moon until he was ready to change. Well, avoid the wolves while also seeking them out. If Greyback stuck to his usual patterns, there would be a clearing somewhere that the pack used as a base. It would be where they went to change, where challenges happened. 

Remus did his best to be stealthy, but he was no match for the werewolves who lived here. He was only lucky that a pair of wolves who hadn’t turned yet were the ones who captured him and hauled him straight to the clearing. 

It turned out that Greyback was waiting for him - and thoroughly anxious to turn himself, hence the impatience. The beast must want to talk and taunt first. As much as he feared the worst, Remus was encouraged that Greyback must not have taken her yet. His heart was hammering, but he was determined to triumph tonight.

The Alpha began to laugh when he saw Remus there at the edge of the clearing, still a man. “I knew you would come tonight, pathetic excuse for a wolf.”

“Where is my mate?” Remus growled.

“You’re really stupid enough to think our Dark Lord would allow her out here in the woods when she’s one of our favorite prisoners? I wouldn’t take your leftovers as a mate, ‘specially not now. The whore has been passed around too much.”

Remus felt his blood turn cold then boil. He had to get to her tonight. He knew now that there would never be another chance. He was going to break Dora free and then take down his sire. If he gained control of the pack in the process, all the better. His hand slipped into his pocket as Greyback continued telling him how much he and everyone else enjoyed using his wife. Avoiding the little box he would be using soon, Remus found the little packet of Peruvian Darkness. WIthout bothering to reply to Greyback, he threw the packet and dodged past his captors while they were lost in the dark.

Taking a deep breath, he now pulled out the little box and flipped the top open. Racing for the edge of the wood, he made it to the front gate of Malfoy Manor before the wolves howling behind him had managed to catch up. He wished there was a secondary gate somewhere, but no matter. He would take out the guards there with little trouble. That would be enough to call out some more of the Death Eaters as well. His wolf mind was excited as he pressed the button inside and hurled the little box at the wards and gate, stepping out into the moonlight at the same time. 

His transformation kept him from fully seeing the way the box hit the wards mid-air, shattering the gates beneath them and causing a jarring bright light to explode across the wards themselves. The guard who wasn’t killed instantly by the blast leapt to his feet, finding himself facing the enraged werewolf Lupin. 

******************************************

  
  


Lord Voldemort laughed his high-pitched, eerie laugh as he crucioed his loyal servant Nott, again, for having still not located his son. 

“My Lord, please,” the man begged. “I’m certain the brat is dead.”

“Then why have you not recovered his body?” the Dark Lord demanded.

“I… I believe the Order murdered him and hid it,” Nott insisted.

“Why would they do that when they have done it to no other?”

The senior Nott paused too long and his body again began convulsing before he could answer. Charlie was grateful that, without the compulsions on his bandage turned collar, he was able to keep his eyes down and not actually watch the torture. Even when it was one of their own, someone who deserved it, he hated watching. Hearing it was bad enough.

Charlie was kneeling in place beside Bellatrix, up on the dais. His knees hurt, but he was happy she wasn’t making him stand on display anymore. Her weird obsession now included a possessiveness she hadn’t displayed before. She didn’t want the other Death Eaters looking at him, much less touching him. 

She still brought him everywhere with her and paraded him around, but when people touched, she no longer laughed about it and taunted him. Sometimes she would ignore it. More often she glared them down. Just tonight for the first time, she had actively removed a man’s hand from his body and told him not to touch her pet again. 

Of course he was relieved, but Charlie was also scared. What happened if Voldemort noticed that she was now  _ too _ attached to him? Would he be reassigned to someone else? He couldn’t survive it. He knew, deep down, that he would find a way to kill himself if he had to go through the whole process of building trust again. Death had to be better than this. 

His eyes met Tonks’ across the room. Today’s face was a blonde with boils all over her. He recognized it easily from school. She had used the boils more than once to skip out of classes. She was covered in bruises, but he could tell her spirit was still in there. More than his right now. Merlin, he wished he could talk to her for a few minutes. 

His attention was pulled back to the floor in front by the screeching of an angry woman. What was this? He had missed something. Nott was now off to the side glowering at a girl, probably about Ron or Ginny’s age, who was actively screaming obscenities - at the men handling her, at Nott off to the side, and even at Voldemort himself. Charlie felt his heart clench.

But Lord Voldemort laughed. “What a feisty little thing,” he said, amusement pouring from his mouth. “Bring her up. The marriage happens now.”

As the ceremony commenced, Charlie tried to pay attention. He felt like he owed anyone else in these positions at least the courtesy of bearing witness. The girl was apparently a Parkinson. Pureblood, not typically Blood Traitors. That explained why she was being married to someone instead of given away as a pet. He felt like there was something familiar about her, but he had no idea. The holes in his memory felt larger every day. Whether he knew her or not, he was silently begging they didn’t have to watch Nott rape her. Bellatrix would no doubt insist they have a front row seat for it. Of course the Death Eaters considered that the best part of the marriages performed for Voldemort’s amusement.

“Nott, this is another chance I’m giving you. Get her under control within 2 weeks, or I kill you,” Lord Voldemort gave a sick smile. “Now, it’s time for the entertainment. Everyone make a circle around the happy couple.”

Charlie thought he might throw up as Bellatrix gathered his leash and prepared to stand, a wicked gleam in her eyes. Before she could, however, there was a blast, reverberating around the entire manor as wards went down. There were screams and angry shouts. 

Lord Voldemort rose from his throne, “We are under attack. Kill them all, whoever they are. I do hate it when our entertainment is interrupted.”

Howls sounded. Something was going on with the werewolves, though how they could have breached the wards, Charlie had no idea. The collected Death Eaters ran for the door. Any who had brought pets or prisoners drug them along.

Bellatrix yanked on his leash, but then turned, her eyes large and round. Behind her, Charlie could see that the Dark Lord had begun gliding across the room to the front hall. There were sounds of shouted spells intermingled with snarls and howling.

There was a look of conflict on Bellatrix’s face. Her voice was very small when she said, “I want you to be safe. You could be hurt out there.”

Charlie swallowed hard. Could she be thinking… 

“Do I still make you happy, pet?”

“Yes, Mistress. You make me very happy.” Anything. He would agree with anything right now if she let him stay behind.

The crazed woman looked down at him with trusting eyes, “Will you be a good pet and sit right here while I’m gone?”

“Yes, Mistress, of course,” he said, trying to keep the elation out of his voice. 

She leaned down, petting his hair until she jerked his head back by a hunk of it and kissed him hard. Charlie whimpered, but bowed his head in submission when she finished. His heart was pounding as he heard her running from the room.

His chance had finally come.

  
  



	24. The Last Marauder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. Just... really sorry, folks. 
> 
> WARNING: Character Death
> 
> The sandbox still belongs to Rowling, but I enjoy playing in it.

Sunday, May 24, 1998; late night

  
  


Looking over her shoulder as Rowle drug her from the ballroom, Tonks saw that Voldy was headed out behind them. As usual he was letting his Death Eaters take the brunt of whatever was happening, but she was surprised to see that Bellatrix was also lingering. Her normal place was gleefully on the front lines doing as much damage as possible. Instead, she was petting Charlie. 

Tonks wanted to watch, see what happened, but Rowle shoved her roughly through the door, his hand gripping her collar tightly. The compulsions were always stronger if he touched it.

“You will go back to my room. You will be waiting for me on the bed when I arrive, however long it may take. And you’re going to look like yourself. Now, bitch. All of it.”

She hated that her face and hair instantly became her own. She hated it even more that she turned and started down the hallway as he had commanded. She was at least able to look behind her, seeing Rowle rushing out the front door, the Dark Lord following not far behind. Finally, Bellatrix came rushing out of the ballroom alone - she must have sent Charlie back to her bedroom - and started toward the front door. The sounds of shouted spells were louder now. Tonks found her feet moving faster to head up the staircase to the second floor bedrooms.

A howl sounded. She knew it must be from the woods beyond the gates, the wards. Logic said it was Greyback or one of his pack. But it wasn’t. Tonks knew that howl, knew what it meant.

_ No. _

Her thoughts were spinning. No compulsion in the world could keep her moving up those stairs with Remus out there. She turned and raced down the stairs toward the door.

  
  


OooOooOooOooOooO

  
  


Headmistress McGonagall looked up wearily as Luna Lovegood burst into the room. It was odd enough for that girl to be in a rush that Minerva pushed herself up from her chair to address her.

“Miss Lovegood? What is the matter?”

Luna’s normal vague look was reduced, worry working its way in, “Professor Lupin didn’t come to the willow tonight, Professor. It’s usually ok, of course. Sometimes he goes early. I thought about just going for a nice walk to see if the wempwillies were in bloom yet. You know how the pluffobies enjoy snacking on them on a full moon. But when I started that way there were so many nargles I just knew that wasn’t what I should be doing. So I went up to knock on Professor Lupin’s door. Of course, on the way, I ran into a nest of doluemberrs that were…”

“Miss Lovegood. What did you find in Lupin’s room?” Minerva had a bad feeling about this the longer the girl went on.

“Oh,” looking stricken, she handed Minerva the note. 

  
  


> I’m getting her out of there tonight, while I have the strength and power to do so. I will not give up my mate to Greyback. I’ve taken a product to take down the wards. Come join the fun if you find this before I’m back. Tell Teddy we love him and I’m bringing his Mummy back to him.
> 
> Remus 

Minerva felt herself beginning to shake. “Thank you, Luna,” she said as she ran from the room, racing for the planning room. 

She felt something akin to panic as she burst into the room, “Ronald! Kingsley! That idiot went to Malfoy Manor to change!”

“What?” They both looked up at her with identical confused but concerned expressions. Nothing flustered Minerva. She knew they couldn’t imagine what had happened. She had read the note and she couldn’t believe it. She thrust it into their waiting hands, letting both of them see it at once. 

“Surely he didn’t,” Kingsley said.

“No,” Ron groaned, “This is my fault. He did it because I hadn’t come up with a way to get her out yet.”

Pulling herself together, Minerva said, “Ronald, there’s no sense in blaming yourself or anyone else right now. We need to get people on the ground there. Perhaps it’s not yet too late.”

  
  


OooOooOooOooOooO

  
  


Legs shaking, Charlie stood up, stretching his body slowly to keep from letting his legs cramp. He might not ever have this chance again. Kneeling at his Mistress’ side, there had been plenty of time to memorize the room in front of him. He knew, off to the right behind a tapestry, there was some sort of hidden hallway. He had seen house elves appear from behind it often enough to be sure. 

Quickly and quietly, he made his way to it, sliding behind the heavy material to see what he would be working with. The space behind was dimly lit but clearly did move away from the ballroom. If he had to guess, Charlie would assume it went to the kitchens at the back of the house. As much as he could, he had memorized the layout of the manor. Bellatrix was constantly visiting “the lessers” as she referred to all the rest of the Death Eaters. 

Despite losing Neville Longbottom, she had still somehow retained favor with the Dark Lord. Perhaps, he thought bitterly, it had something to do with how much they had all enjoyed watching her with himself. He shuddered and reminded himself that was the reason he had to get out of here. His eyes were quickly adjusting to the dark hallway. He realized that there were doors all along it, though some looked more used than others. That could be useful if it led him to an unused room he could hide in. 

Down the long hall, he heard a noise like someone running down stairs. He tried to press himself against the wall but realized the elf or person making that noise was moving fast enough that they must be able to see. His only chance would be to try one of the doors that looked unused and hope it went to a room that wasn’t occupied. 

Choosing a door, Charlie turned the old knob and shoved as hard as he could, hearing footsteps coming ever closer. Two things suddenly happened at once. A body hit him hard, throwing him up against the wall next to the door. A slim, familiar hand was on his chest while the rest of the man’s body stood away from him. At the same moment, the door Charlie had been pushing on flew open from the other side, an angry wizard leaning in.

“So sorry, sir,” a smooth, low voice came from right beside him, Blaise’s body blocked him from sight while he addressed the wizard in the outer room. Charlie swore he could feel the deep rumble of that soothing tone coming through the hand into his chest. Even though his heart was pounding with fear, he felt himself calming by the second. “I tripped running through the servant’s hall here. Our lord needs me immediately in the throne room. I suspect there will be a show soon. Perhaps you should head down as well.” 

There was an angry grumble from the other side, “See that you don’t bother my door again,” before the wizard slammed it shut and they were alone.

The hand moved from Charlie’s chest to tug at his hand, pulling him rapidly several doors down before shoving him onto the opposite wall. Blaise was suddenly flush against Charlie, the cloth of his robes pressing against Charlie’s naked skin and making him shudder from the sudden warmth. With his mouth directly against Charlie’s ear, Blaise whispered, “Four doors then turn the corner to your right. Take the staircase on your left. Straight up it, then left, pass 4 doors, turn right and all the way to the end of the hall. The next to last door is the infirmary. You should be safe there. Find somewhere to hide inside, just in case.”

With that, the man was gone and Charlie was alone again, shivering from the chill.

  
  


OooOooOooOooOooO

  
  


Lupin made quick work of the guard, and was pleased to see that Death Eaters were coming out of the manor running toward him. The part of him that was still Remus reminded his wolf they weren’t  _ just _ there to fight - that they needed to head in through the broken wards and get through to their mate. 

Lupin gave his wolfish grin and loped toward the manor. When he hit the ward line, he felt a momentary zap of energy before he found himself flying backwards through the air. He heard laughter from the Death Eaters before him. Howling with rage, he tried again. It threw him back again, singeing his fur as he hit. 

The first of the Death Eaters reached Lupin, the brand on the man’s arm glowing as he stepped across the ward. Like most of them, this weak man hadn’t bothered to throw on robes, so Remus recognized him as MacNair. Of course. He was always ready to put down a beast. The wolf ripped out his throat at that thought, spinning to face the next to come. 

A spell hit his side as he did, blasting him backward as a gash opened up where it hit. Lupin howled, leaping to his feet and attacking Rookwood, the next to reach him. He felt bone crunch beneath flesh as he bit into the man’s shoulder, his claws raking along him as well. 

Lupin yelped and let go as a wizard just behind the wards shot him with a slicing hex. Rookwood scrambled away as a man started laughing. The werewolf spun to face the sound. Thorfinn Rowle stood, laughing, with a wicked grin on his face. “Remus Lupin? Looking for your wife? The bitch isn’t yours now. I own her. I fuck her whenever I want and I make her scream  _ my _ name. That cunt is mine.”

  
  


OooOooOooOooOooO

Ron landed at the edge of the woods with his forces. He had pulled out everyone available. They were to stay in groups of no less than four. Who knew how many werewolves were out in this forest tonight? 

The groups quickly began to spread out, but it was obvious where they all needed to go. Wild howls were coming from the same direction as angry shouts. Both sounds led directly toward flickering lights that could only be Malfoy Manor. The varying colors of those lights told Ron that the brightness ahead was a vast number of spells lighting the night.

Fearing for Remus, Ron wanted to rush forward as some of his troops were doing. Instead, he signaled to his partners - Finian, Cho, and Luna - to hold back, moving cautiously forward. He was glad they had as there were werewolves circling, drawn toward the howls even more intensely than the Order was. 

They took out a couple of them as they snuck along, but in the distance, Ron could hear shouts that he suspected were his brother, proclaiming a kill. It terrified him that George might be provoking the beasts, but there wasn’t a thing he could do about it right now. Especially as they had just come to the end of the forest where it opened out in front of the gates. 

Well, what had been the gates. They were a gnarled mess at the moment. Ron wondered what could have reduced the imposing structure to melted pools of metal, but he didn’t have to wonder very long.

Taking in the scene, his eyes were drawn to a werewolf he knew. Remus growled where he stood then made a wild leap toward a man on the other side of the line. For a moment it seemed he might be successful, but then there was a snapping sound and he was thrown back by the wards, letting out a yelp as he fell.

Rowle leaned down and picked something up. Ron couldn’t tell exactly what the little box had been, but he recognized the Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes logo on the side, even with half of it gone. 

“Hmmm. The Dark Lord will be interested to see this. It seems to have done a rather good job on most of the wards.” Rowle looked up at Remus. “If you were going to get out of here alive, I would suggest you report back that they’re useless against blood wards. Shame you won’t get the chance.” 

Ron heard Fin’s shout before he could stop him. “He’ll get out. Don’t you worry about that!”

The hulking Viking of a man turned to their group, scanning the area. “Maybe someone will survive to get the message through since your little friends are here now. Wouldn’t count on it, but it could happen.”

Ron found that a collection of nasty spells were now aimed their way by the Death Eaters on the lawn. He was dodging and returning fire, but his attention, and thankfully theirs too, was really held by the scene unfolding before them.

There was a snarl to Remus’s side, just as he was knocked off his feet by another huge wolf. His sire, his mortal enemy - Greyback. Remus was in a fight for his life and Ron was ashamed to admit he didn’t believe his friend would be the one who lived. 

The two werewolves were interlocked. Both were snarling and biting. Greyback was so much larger, and working without the gashes Lupin had already taken to his back and sides. Remus did the only thing he could. He squirmed under his larger opponent and began biting under his belly and up toward his neck. Greyback attacked the smaller wolf’s back, but couldn’t get an easy hold. Remus was slipping repeatedly out of Greyback’s grasp. 

Remus was covered in blood, but he finally got his jaws around Greyback’s neck. Ron was shocked when Remus crushed his windpipe. He started to shake his prey, delivering the final kill, when a scream split the air. 

Ron gasped. He knew that voice. “REMUS!” Ron couldn’t believe it was truly Tonks, right there, running as fast as she could to get to her husband, just ahead of her. Remus began untangling himself from Greyback’s mangled remains, his eyes glued to the sight of his wife. Ron noticed that the Death Eaters were letting her run without a single move to stop her and a sinking feeling settled in his stomach.

The Death Eaters began to laugh as Tonks ran straight into the ward. She screamed as it threw her back and the magical energy crackled with a fire of its own. Tonks was sobbing, Remus so close but untouchable. On the other side, he howled as he reached out for her.

Rowle was suddenly beside them, fisting her hair and yanking her to him. Staring straight into the werewolf’s eyes, he kissed the struggling woman, then fondled along her body as he laughed at Remus’s attempts to get inside. 

“Bellatrix?” Rowle called, “Do you want to play with this little whore tonight? Bet you and your pet would enjoy having her.” 

The woman in question gave a purely evil smile and put her hands on Tonks as well, effectively freeing up Rowle’s wand hand. 

Remus was losing what little human part of his mind he had still possessed. Howling and surging forward, he never saw the shot of green light coming from Rowle’s wand. 

It hit him in the center of his chest and Remus was gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO SORRY!
> 
> I fully expect some upset/angry comments on this one, but please remember I'm a real person and don't be *too* harsh.


	25. Howl At The Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who stayed for not absolutely blasting me after that last chapter. I really enjoyed all the thoughtful, heartfelt reviews. I've not been in the best place mental healthwise the past few weeks, so your comments give me a big boost. Please keep 'em coming. I love knowing what you think, even if it's that you don't like what I'm doing. 
> 
> I don't think there are any specific trigger warnings for this chapter.
> 
> JK Rowling still owns the characters. So on and so forth.

Sunday May 24, 1998; late night

The door to the servant’s hall began to slowly open only minutes after Blaise had left. Draco was surprised and almost called out, but something seemed off. Why would his friend be moving so slowly when he had been in such a rush only minutes before? The creak of the door silenced any reaction.

His first instinct was to hide. Draco had to remind himself that he was actually safer lying in bed than he would be if he moved, though he did grab his wand. The disillusionment would keep anyone from seeing him as long as he stayed put and they didn’t actively run into him, even if they looked behind the curtain.

There was a shuffling sound as the door closed and the person came inside, but they didn’t speak or settle anywhere to wait. It was like they hadn’t expected to be here at all and were just trying not to touch anything. Suddenly, there was a loud clatter as a table of equipment and potion bottles fell sideways and crashed to the ground.

“Holy Mother-of-Merlin’s Saggy Left Tit. I’ll be the bloody fucking death of myself,” a voice whisper-shouted. Draco couldn’t help but sputter and laugh. Who  _ was _ this guy? He didn’t recognize the baritone voice. 

When the curtain was jerked back, it revealed a very muscular, very nude redhead with a deadly look on his face. “Who’s there? I heard you and I know you’re here.”

Draco also didn’t recognize the man himself, though the collar on his neck, the only thing he was wearing at all, indicated he was the pet his aunt had been keeping.

Draco drew back rapidly before he could stop himself, the movement breaking the disillusionment, and aimed his wand at the man. In the back of his mind, Draco knew it was stupid, but his mouth had taken over, “Red hair? Never seen one so poor he didn’t  _ have _ any clothes, but are you a Weasley?” He was immediately cursing himself and internally begging that the man’s response was confusion rather than fury.

To his surprise, the redhead laughed quietly, though his face was still grim. “I am, actually. And you’re the Malfoy boy, aren’t you?” 

Though he clearly felt minimal embarrassment at his state, the man had moved the curtain so that it was between his lower half and Draco. He was less disconcerting to look at that way, Draco had to admit. Remembering finally that he had been spoken to, Draco nodded. 

His head spun a little when he did. He hated how weak he still felt. There had been a dream a few nights ago, one of the real ones. It had helped tremendously, but… he just needed that witch so damn badly. Merlin, he couldn’t even focus on what was happening around him. He needed to know what was going on here and now.

“What’s your name?” Draco asked, “Besides Weasley.”

“Charlie. The dragon tamer. Second oldest. Former Gryffindor Quidditch Captain. Most people your age have never heard of me since I’m the one that ran off to a foreign country.” 

Draco nodded. He actually had heard of him, but he wasn’t going to say so. He raised his wand again. “What are you doing here?”

“Hiding,” the redhead said. “You?” He didn’t seem phased by the wand in his face.

He couldn’t help it. Draco rolled his eyes and said, “Healing.”

The man stared at him for a moment, his lips quirking, before he nodded. “Fair thing to do in an infirmary, I suppose. Do you… know the healer well?”

Draco’s mind was spinning. Did Blaise know this was happening? Was he supposed to pretend they weren’t close. Fuck. How was he supposed to know what was going on when he had been trapped here for so long? “Everyone knows Zabini,” he hedged. “Are you here because… did he send you here?”

Charlie stared at Draco. His face was blank, but Draco could almost feel his nervousness rolling over him. Finally, the redhead said, “I found my way here.” As he spoke, he looked around at the infirmary with purpose in his gaze. “Don’t suppose there are any clothes around here that I could borrow?”

After a moment of thought, Draco nodded. “I can get you some of the healer’s. I don’t know how well any of it will fit. You’re about the same height but you’re… a bit more filled out than he is.”

Charlie snorted in a way that suggested he was familiar enough with Blaise to be aware of that. 

Draco wished again that he knew what the hell was going on and how Charlie had ended up specifically here in the infirmary. It was a long way from any of the areas Bellatrix tended to frequent. Draco had a feeling, but… if he was wrong, he was inviting a lot of danger into their lives and without Blaise’s approval. On the other hand, if he was right, Blaise was inviting that danger in without consulting  _ him _ so maybe he wouldn’t need to feel so guilty.

“What was your name, by the way? You don’t act much like any Malfoy I’ve ever heard of. I’d hate to call you after them.”

“Draco,” he replied, feeling weirdly shy about it. 

“Dragon? Really? No wonder I like you.” Charlie gave a quiet laugh. Draco was confused. Surely he should be more terrified and frantic.

Slowly, Draco had made his way off the bed and toward Blaise’s room. Charlie caught his arm once when it seemed like he might fall. 

“If you don’t mind my asking,” the redhead began, “what happened to you?” 

“The Dark Lord,” Draco answered in a bitter tone. 

Charlie nodded. No further explanation was needed for anyone who had been living here any length of time.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Draco added, “Should you get recaptured and anyone asks… I’m in a coma right now, yeah?”

Charlie’s eyebrows rose at that, but he nodded again.

“I’m only alive at this point to hold the blood wards. We’re hoping they’ve mostly forgotten I exist,” Draco found himself explaining, though he owed this man nothing.

By this point, Draco had managed to rummage through all of Blaise’s things, finally coming across a t-shirt and some sleep pants in a bottom drawer. Charlie squirmed his body into them. They were tight, but better than nothing. Draco wasn’t sure where they came from. They weren’t the sort of thing Blaise typically wore. But they were the closest to Charlie’s size. He might burst out of them, Draco thought, but he already looked more relaxed now that he was dressed. 

“I can relate to that,” the redhead commiserated in response. “I can only hope I’ll be forgotten quickly.”

***********************

Ron couldn’t hear anything except Tonks’ screams as she was dragged back to the Manor. Some part of him just couldn’t accept that they weren’t going to be able to free her when she had been so close to them. His logical side, though, knew it was fruitless. 

The wolves were howling, frantic and confused with their alpha dead. Ron heard cursing, his people and others, and the sounds of battle being engaged. He and Finian exchanged a glance and took off toward the nearest fight. The Death Eaters looked like they couldn’t wait for this fight. That wasn’t what he wanted.

“Fall back to the woods!” he called out to his teams. If they were going up against any of the inner circle, it wasn’t going to be with them shooting curses from behind impenetrable wards. As he expected, they grumbled angrily, but only sent the lower ranking guards into the woods after them.

Ron wasn’t terribly worried about fighting them. They were hardly even trained. Near him, Hannah took one down with a well-placed jellylegs jinx and an  _ incarcerous _ . Angelina stunned another. Ron was grinning at them when Finian suddenly shouted, “Move, Ron!”

It was too late. His wand arm felt like it had been hit by a boulder - completely crushed in and useless. Fin scooped up his wand and put it in his left hand, not that Ron was much good with it there, but better than being defenseless. His friend felled the robed figure before he could cast again, creatively using small slicing hexes to take out the tendons in the back of the legs that allowed him to stand. The man dropped and the two friends turned as they realized the werewolves’ howling had become much louder. 

They had plenty of people between them and the werewolves, but Ron was still concerned. There were a  _ lot _ of them and it sounded like they were regrouping. Cho came running up to him at that moment, the head of one of his teams. 

“Ron - I think Greyback’s death is why all the wolves are so rabid. We killed two on our way here. Without an alpha, they may get more desperate.”

Ron was about to tell everyone to back off and apparate home, that the mission was over, when a werewolf pounced right in front of him. Ron backed away, trying to blast him with his left-handed wand and failing. Cho hit the creature square in the chest with a  _ confringo _ but it got right back up and charged Ron again. 

Suddenly he stumbled backward over something on the ground - the Death Eater Fin had taken down a few minutes before. Above him, the fight raged on, the werewolf snarling and more vicious by the moment. Michael stepped in front of Ron to block and suddenly the wolf was on top of him. 

Ron called out the command for everyone to return home as soon as they safely could. He then rolled away from the fight. He turned back to shoot a spell and help Michael, but he realized that Fin had already stepped in for it. He had to. Michael was laying on the ground with no sign of life in his open eyes. 

“No,” Ron whispered. Why did they have to lose someone else? The whole night suddenly caught up with him and he began shouting at people to get out of there. He was done with this for tonight. They had lost two good people. And his arm needed attention fast. He hoped no one had been bitten, but with their luck, there was bound to be someone. 

****************************

Tonks couldn’t stop screaming. Even when Thorfinn hit her, when he bound her and silenced her, the screams were still coming. Though she couldn’t make a sound, her own screams and sobs were all that her brain could acknowledge. Not Remus. Not him. What had he been thinking? Not tonight. Obviously he hadn’t been thinking tonight. But why would he let his wolf take over? Why didn’t he take wolfsbane this week so he would have known how futile an attack here would be. An attack alone. Who let him loose on a full moon? Was there no one else to stop him?

She couldn’t catch a breath and for once she honestly didn’t know if it was because Rowle was hurting her or if she was simply unable or unwilling to breathe. Where was Teddy? Was he still with her mother? She remembered leaving him there before each mission she went out on. Surely she had before the one she was caught. Why hadn’t Remus stayed with their baby? Why had he come here?

  
  


****************************

“Why did it take you so bloody long to get here?” Travers grabbed Blaise by the front of his shirt as soon as he emerged from the passage. He was glad to have no time to answer as the man drug him along and practically threw him at his friend bleeding on the floor. 

Rookwood had claw marks all over his body, from his face down to his ankles, most of them deep, long gouges. On his left shoulder, there was a bite. Blaise wasn’t an expert on werewolves, but he knew at a glance that Rookwood would turn next month if he survived this. And if he survived, it was more likely to be from the lycanthropy surging into his veins and strengthening him than Blaise’s healing skills. 

Still, the young man began chanting spells, looking at the diagnostics and healing what damage he could. He tried to ignore Travers as his continual demands were to get all the werewolf out, “Don’t you let Rookwood here be no stinkin werewolf.”

After over an hour of working on him while the Death Eaters swarmed around him, Blaise had the man as stable as he could get him. Rookwood wasn’t young, so the change was going to be hard on him, especially considering how difficult the wounds had been to heal. He had scars all over his body. Werewolf claws tended to leave permanent marks.

Standing, he turned to Lord Voldemort and said, “I’m afraid that is as much as I can do for him, my Lord. Perhaps it would be best if Greyback assigns someone to help him come to terms with his new condition.”

Blaise was on the ground screaming and thrashing before he had time to realize the  _ crucio _ s were coming. He wasn’t even sure who it came from - who each of them came from, because the spell had hit him from multiple directions at once, throwing his body around like a puppet. The sensation was fire and ice and inside his bones and pummeling through every organ, every muscle. He screamed and screamed and still they did not let up. 

He was losing touch with reality when the Dark Lord called, “Enough. We need our healer competent.” The sensation stopped on the outside, but Blaise still felt pain in every inch of his body and mind.

“If he were competent, he wouldn’t be coming in here to just say Rookwood’s one of them now,” Travers shouted. There was a murmur of agreement. 

Lord Voldemort made a flippant gesture, “The fool was doomed when he left the wards, just like MacNair. At least this one’s alive. I needed a new werewolf to lead anyway, if he’s alpha enough.”

Travers took a step forward, “How can you act like his life don’t even bloody matter!?”

Not a soul in the room dared breathe. Blaise willed his body to still enough to not make further noise. 

“The lives of my followers are dear to me. When they choose to no longer follow, however,” The Dark Lord had stood from his throne and walked toward Travers, “when they decide to start questioning me, then they are no longer a follower of mine.” 

There was suddenly a space around the man as no one wanted to share his penance. Lord Voldemort pointed his wand at Travers, who dropped suddenly to his knees and began begging. Blaise, now part of the crowd, slowly drug his body to his feet and sank back further into the crowd.

The Dark Lord listened to his former follower grovel for a few minutes before calling, “Dolohov!”

“Yes, my Lord?” the man answered eagerly.

“A traitor is annoying me. I think your personal talents will best entertain everyone this evening. Do have fun with him.”

“It will be my pleasure, my Lord,” Dolohov replied with elation in his voice, “If it’s to your liking, my Lord, I’ll have my wife hold him in place as I work on him.” He yanked Narcissa by the hair and shoved her at the doomed man. She was shaking like a leaf as her hands gingerly went to hold Travers by the arms. Of course Blaise knew he was really being held in place with magic. Narcissa was there for her own torture as Dolohov did Merlin knows what to the man and she would have to stand by.

“Healer!” the Dark Lord suddenly called out. 

Blaise scrambled to be seen. “Yes, my Lord?”

“The wretched witch over there - make her stop shrieking,” Lord Voldemort commanded. 

Multiple times he had ordered the  _ silencio _ removed from the woman in question only to find that she could not be brought under control. Apparently not even the Dark Lord wanted to listen to the kind of grief-stricken wail Tonks was emitting.

“I’ll see to her, my Lord,” Blaise assured him, “Should I take her to the infirmary?”

“Don’t waste your time. I’ll just drag her up to my room and throw her in a corner,” Rowle growled at him.

“Of course,” Blaise said with a nod, “I may send some potions along with you that will shut her up. I’ll administer one now, but she won’t be able to walk.”

“The bitch wouldn’t walk anyway,” Rowle said.

Blaise couldn’t argue with that, so he said, “As you say, sir.” Without further conversation, he administered a Dreamless Sleep potion to Tonks and watched as her whole body relaxed. If only he had something that could make things so easy for her heart in the morning. 

He was just packing up his bag and preparing to leave when the shrill voice of Bellatrix Lestrange rang through the expansive room, “Who took him!? Which one of you dare take my pet?”


	26. Hiding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No trigger warnings, though Bellatrix is a little creepy.
> 
> Harry Potter isn't mine.

Charlie’s search was frantic. He needed a place to hide. A good one. He couldn’t go back to Bellatrix. He wouldn’t. And he couldn’t let his new friends take the fall for it if he was found here. He contemplated heading back into the servant’s hall and trying to find somewhere to go, but he was too selfish. He didn’t want to cause them trouble, but he knew they were his best chance. 

The Malfoy kid - Draco, he reminded himself - was back asleep. Charlie didn’t understand exactly what was wrong with him, but it was clear the young man was vulnerable. Draco had collapsed on the bed in Blaise’s room after finding these clothes. Charlie had carried him back to his bed in the infirmary. Draco hadn’t even stirred. 

Clothes. Merlin, it felt amazing to be covered. It wasn’t really that he was self conscious. It was just about being in control of it himself. About not being ogled and touched by everyone you passed. 

He shuddered, realizing his breathing was picking up. Merlin, he wanted to fall apart for a little while. Not now. He could  _ not _ give in to the memories and the panic until he found somewhere safe. Charlie leaned against the doorframe to another room for a moment, concentrating hard on each breath in and out until he was calm again.

Looking around, he realized this was the potions lab for the healer. He would need to be careful in this room not to knock anything, but maybe there would be somewhere…

He looked in all the cabinets and things. They were too obvious, but he needed to know how things were arranged in case he just had to jump in somewhere. He felt the edges of desperation closing in on himself. 

Charlie looked underneath one of the tall cabinets - it sat well off the ground - he could probably wriggle under it if he needed to, but it wouldn’t hide him well enough. Beyond it, though, was blackness. It was probably just the wall, wasn’t it? But he could see the wall behind the other cabinet like this. 

Thinking quickly, he threw open the ingredients cabinet and searched for sparking tinder wings. Thank Merlin Blaise labeled everything meticulously. He reached in for one, slid to the ground, and tossed it under the cabinet. When the wing hit the floor, it sparked as expected and he was able to see beyond. There was a large space of some sort. 

Now he just had to get back there. Fast. When he had made it to the infirmary, he had been so relieved that he hadn’t worried much. But with every passing minute, Bellatrix had to be searching for him and he was feeling more exposed by the moment. 

Charlie slid in between the two cabinets. It was a tight fit, but doable. Unfortunately, he was too big to squeeze behind the cabinet itself. He could see the space now. There would at least be enough room for him to stand - if he was lucky, perhaps it was even bigger. But he had to get back to it first. 

He heard the sound of the infirmary door bursting open. Panic shot through him. Charlie knew there was nowhere for him to go quickly enough that he wouldn’t be caught. Fear threatened to overwhelm him, but he bit his lip and did the only thing he could think of. He had always been rubbish at wandless magic, but his desperation might cause it to work. 

Charlie whispered the disillusionment charm and looked down at himself. Did he look any less substantial? In the dark between the cabinets, he couldn’t be sure. All he could do was stand there and wait. He strained his ears to hear who might have come in. 

*************************

Blaise burst into the long, plain room that was now his infirmary. It had once been a gallery of paintings. He had taken them all down while he was converting it and conveniently hadn’t ever gotten around to putting them back up. Blaise had no desire to be watched by the Malfoy ancestors. 

He had given an excuse that he urgently needed to get some wolfsbane for Rookwood to take to ensure he didn’t change this very night. That wasn’t how such things worked, but no one had wanted to argue about it once the possibility was mentioned. Blaise knew he was working with very little time

Looking around, he knew things had changed. He could see Draco’s curtains, meaning he had been out of bed since Blaise was last here. As he didn’t want anyone questioning why he was trying to hide the Malfoy heir, it was nice that the spell was already gone, but what might have happened in his absence worried him. Peeking in the curtain, nothing was amiss. Draco was passed out, though he was on top of the covers. That was unlike his friend.

Blaise didn’t have time to ponder it. Spinning around, he rushed to the lab and grabbed a Draught of Living Death. He didn’t want his patient and friend waking in the middle of the search. He didn’t have time to explain what was going on. Merlin, he wished he could ask him about Charlie. Fuck. He hadn’t even thought about how Draco might react to a Weasley until after he had sent him along here. 

This was still the safest place for him. Blaise just needed to know where the hell he was so he could stop panicking about it. 

“Charlie!” he hissed into the infirmary as he headed back to Draco. Blaise nearly screamed when he felt a tug on his shoulder. He spun and was staring into the man’s clear blue eyes. He looked tense, but unharmed.

“Didn’t mean to scare you. What’s going on out there?” Charlie whispered. 

Blaise noticed he was clothed in a lounge outfit an ex of his had once left. He didn’t remember keeping it, but he was glad now that he had. Charlie deserved a bit of modesty after the past month. “Bellatrix is livid, utterly convinced someone stole you. The Dark Lord has demanded whoever has you to bring you forward and be spared. Otherwise, when they find who has you, they plan to murder them slowly.”

“Tell me somewhere else to hide and I’ll get out of here.”

“No way. You’re safest here.”

“I’ll make a run for it. There has to be somewhere else in this fucking palace to hide.”

Blaise rolled his eyes. “You’ll get caught. Then they’ll check your memories and we’re both fucked.”

The redhead nodded, though he still looked troubled. “How soon before they get here?” 

“Just a matter of time. We need to get you hidden. Hell, we need to get you out of this Manor.”

“I’m not leaving without Tonks,” Charlie said stubbornly, his whole countenance changing at the idea of leaving his old friend behind. 

“Of course you won’t. That would be too simple for a Gryffindor,” Blaise muttered. “Now where are we going to put you?”

“I have a good spot back here,” Charlie said, “but I couldn’t get there in time. And I think it might be best if you disillusion me, too. Just in case.”

“Show me.”

Charlie showed him the niche in the wall behind one of the giant potions cabinets. “Thank Merlin,” Blaise breathed. “I had no idea that was there, but it’s perfect.”

“Almost perfect. I’m too big to scoot behind it.”

Blaise looked at it for a moment, then levitated the cabinet forward a few inches. “Better?”

Charlie tried it and was relieved that he could just barely squeeze behind.

“Now get the fuck back there before she gets here. She’s not getting you back.”

Their eyes met once more and Charlie grabbed his hand and squeezed it before getting in place. When he was in place, Blaise levitated the cabinet back in place and shot a disillusionment spell under the cabinet, then checked that he couldn’t see him. He wasn’t sure if it was the general darkness or his spell, but he couldn’t see Charlie at all. 

“You might as well be invisible. Now stay there until I come get you. Please?” 

“I’ll wait for you,” Charlie promised, his voice muffled by the cabinet between them.

Now that he was safely hidden, Blaise hustled back to the infirmary and roused Draco to make him swallow the potion down. 

“You owe me an explanation,” Draco said through his drowsiness.

“You’ll have it, mate, as soon as you wake from this. Now take it, quick,” Blaise said.

He  _ evanescoed _ the label away and then went to set the bottle down on his side table. He noticed the table looked fine, but there were several broken potions bottles on top of it. He wondered how much of a mess Charlie had made when he first came in. Draco had clearly met Charlie. He smiled wondering how  _ that _ might have gone. If they all made it through this alive, he looked forward to hearing about it.

Blaise was just tucking a wollfsbane potion in his bag and preparing to head back down when the infirmary door burst open. 

“Are  _ you _ hiding my pet, Healer Boy?” Bellatrix demanded. She was looking around as though he might be standing there somewhere or laying on a bed. “I remember how eagerly you devoured him with those pretty lips. How you kissed him like you wanted more. I could see it in your eyes, you know. Such lovely dark eyes.” She was walking around him, a finger under his chin so he couldn’t look away. “I think, if we can’t find my ginger candy, I might ask our Lord for you. A change of flavor might be in order.” 

His eyes had gone wide. Bellatrix genuinely scared him. He knew he was valuable to the Dark Lord as a healer, but you never knew which of Bella’s whims he would agree to from moment to moment. 

“I don’t have him, madam,” Blaise soothed. “You are of course welcome to look around. I only have one patient at the moment.”

“Oh? Who is that?” she asked, a predatory smile on her face.

He grit his teeth, knowing he couldn’t hide his friend’s identity. “Draco Malfoy, madam.”

“Draco is here? I had forgotten. Why isn’t he healed already?”

“He has fallen into a magical coma. He’ll come out of it when his body is ready, I presume. I’ve done all I can do for the prat. Lord Voldemort seems rather pleased with him in this state.”

‘Hmmm’ was all she said in response and went along to his bedside. Blaise rushed to follow her. As much as he feared her, he didn’t want her hands on his friend ever again, and certainly not when he had promised to protect him. 

She ran a hand down his face, his high cheekbones. “He’s such a pretty boy, such nice Black blood in his veins.” 

“Indeed,” Blaise agreed smoothly. “Did you want to check the potions lab and my room? Both spaces might offer ample places to hide.”

It took her a moment to stop stroking her nephew’s face, but Bellatrix eventually spun and asked him to lead the way into his room. Right in front of him, she became a whirlwind of destruction, not just yanking everything out of his closet onto the ground, but pulling out and dumping every drawer in the room, flipping his desk upside down. It was such senseless chaos. It left Blaise shaking, as he was sure it was supposed to.

“Madam, if you are satisfied here, may I beg that you search more gently in the potions lab? Some of the potions and ingredients are volatile when mixed, not to mention many of the ingredients being quite expensive. I know our Lord’s pockets are generous, but even he would prefer I spend no more than necessary.”

“Generous pockets of the Malfoy family, more like,” she muttered. Blaise found it interesting that she had such strong feelings on the subject, but he just tucked the information away to look at later.

Bellatrix curled her lip at him and stormed into the potions lab, but she was far more careful there. She was thorough, but in a controlled way. Blaise could barely hold onto his poker face and breathe as she looked under the cabinet Charlie was hiding behind. The disillusionment held. She saw nothing and moved on.

When she had finished, she seemed to have forgotten Draco again. She had practically forgotten Blaise standing right in front of her. She looked worried and angry as she stormed out of the infirmary without another word. 

Blaise almost sank to the floor in relief. He needed a solid drink tonight. The problem of what to do with his fugitive weighed heavily on his mind, but he was going to do his best to push that problem until later. For now he needed to rush this potion down to Rookwood and hope no one else had a medical emergency.

************************

Draco wandered through the garden. He felt an overwhelming need to run, like the maze of roses was trying to close in on him, but he pushed it away. 

Well, he tried to. Panic welled up in him as the roses reached out to touch him, to stroke his face. He couldn’t stand the feeling and running felt so much safer. 

He ran until he reached the fountain. He wished fervently that she were there. His witch. She had been there last time he was in the garden. Today he needed her. Today he wanted to be with her and he didn’t give a single fuck about all the reasons he shouldn’t want her.

Draco sucked in a breath when she suddenly  _ was  _ there, wandering out of another opening in the roses on the other side. He wasn’t sure if she heard him or if she just sensed his presence, but they were suddenly staring at one another with the fountain between them. 

Finally, she stepped forward, taking her place on the fountain’s edge. “Well, come on then. Are you going to sit with me again?”

He hesitated, then mentally rolled his eyes at himself. He could do what he wanted here. Still, he didn’t want to run her off. What if he dreamed her angry and leaving him? “I...I would like that, but are you sure you’re okay with it?”

Hermione looked at him, scrunching up her nose in puzzlement. Merlin, he loved it when she did that. “Why wouldn’t I be okay with it?” she asked.

“I’ve only bullied you the entire time we’ve known each other,” he scoffed. He felt the full weight, suddenly, of all the things he had said and done to her over the time they had known each other. He didn’t deserve for her to be near him, even in his own head; even if his imagined skin burned with need for her touch.

She rolled her eyes at him. “As if I could forget that. But this… it’s not real. And somehow, comforting you comforts me.”

Draco stared at her, incredulous at her words. “I...I know it’s not real. There is no way, even in a dream, that you don’t hate me.”

“Then I have clearly gone mental.” Her foot was tapping with impatience. “Are you coming over here or not?”

“I am,” he said, letting his feet finally move to her. He didn’t deserve her touch, but he had always been selfish and he needed her. He was laying down, his head in her lap and her fingers sifting through the silky strands of his hair before Draco spoke again, his thoughts finally coalescing into something solid.

There was something he needed to do. And he could do it right now. He could apologize here, like this. It was much simpler when his mind was controlling how it would play out, when he just knew how genuine he was and he didn’t have to prove it to her. Maybe it meant that one day he could apologize to her for real, if he could practice first and pretend that she would accept it. “I watched you be tortured. Aunt Bella is crazy, and I just stood back and let it happen. I let so much happen. Merlin, Hermione,” Her name felt strange on his lips. “I am so sorry for the things that happened to you in my home. All of them.”

She stared down at him, her fingers tightened around a couple of locks of his hair, staring through him as though she couldn’t even see him there. Then she shook her head and looked into his eyes. “Thank you. I know it wasn’t your fault.” When she saw the look on his face, she cried, “It wasn’t! But it helps to hear an apology from someone. Yes. I think I needed that.”

Draco took a deep breath, wondering if it would be silly to tell her about his day, about her boyfriend’s brother showing up. He couldn’t believe the reaction he had - physical as well as mental - to the idea of the Weasel as her boyfriend. It had just been what he always said to piss them off. Blast them with the truth before they’re ready for it. 

“You’re having a hard time tonight,” she said, watching him.

“Real life is stressful right now,” he admitted.

“A burden shared is a burden halved,” she told him.

His grey eyes stared up into her earnest brown ones and he couldn’t stand to tell her about the other things Bellatrix had done and would be happy to do. Hermione had been somewhat protected from her except for the one horrific incident. He was determined to keep it that way. 

Letting out the air he had been holding in, Draco noticeably deflated. “Can we just be here? I just… you calm me down and I need it.”

Hermione looked at him and nodded. So that’s what they did until she disappeared and he sat and watched the fountain alone, thinking about what it would be like when he returned to the real world. He could dream nonsense all he liked, but he doubted that she would ever really forgive him.


	27. News Travels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't believe there are any trigger warnings for this chapter. 
> 
> Thank you to omnenomnom for being an awesome alpha and highlyintelligentblonde for being my beta.
> 
> I don't own any of this except the plot.

Monday, May 25th, 1998; morning

Hermione was lost in thought as she quietly ate her breakfast. She had dreamt of Malfoy in that rose garden again. The weirdest thing, she reflected, was that he had seemed so real, so sincere. There were so many people who needed comfort. She wasn’t at all surprised that she was dreaming of being there for someone when they needed her. If it had been Harry or Ron or even Ginny, Luna, Neville, George… lots of people would have made sense. But why Malfoy?

Her thoughts were interrupted as the floo suddenly sprang to life. She had her wand pointed at it by the time Professor McGonagall stepped out. Bill was in the room, wand out, before she had finished brushing herself off, with Fleur close behind him. The look on Professor McGonagall’s face ensured that no one put their wand away.

“What’s wrong?” Hermione exclaimed.

It took a moment for the woman to gather herself. When the words came, it was clearly painful to say them at all. The entire telling took almost an hour as Professor McGonagall broke down trying to get the story out.

Halfway through, Bill had slid to the ground sobbing. Hermione hadn’t realized they were close, but Remus had been his mentor through his own wolfish problems, so it made sense. Fleur was trying to calm him, but he seemed inconsolable.

Hermione’s head was spinning. She hadn’t even gotten to see Remus yet. And what about poor Teddy? How was Tonks? Did she know? Hermione was so wrapped in her thoughts, she almost missed the Headmistress preparing to leave.

“I must be going. There are others who need to know. I...I have to tell Harry. The last Marauder gone.” The last bit came out in a whisper.

“Minerva, wait!” Hermione cried, throwing herself at the woman for a fierce hug. When she pulled back, she took a deep breath. “I know this isn’t the time, but I was planning to contact you this morning before...this.” She nearly sobbed again. How could Remus be gone when he had so much still to live for? “I want this war over. I want Hogwarts protected,” she choked out. “I need the Hogwarts library, and to see some of the books in the Headmaster’s office. Headmistress’ office, rather. I have to get those wards figured out now.” 

Professor McGonagall nodded. “I will see what I can do.”

“No, Minerva!” Hermione didn’t let her get away. “No. You can’t just brush me off. This is important.”

“We don’t have the Fidelius in place yet. Severus is nearly there, he thinks, but it may be a week or more before we have it.”

Hermione was ready to cry again from sheer frustration. The castle needed more protection now. She needed those books. “Perhaps Bill could go find what we need?” she asked hopefully.

They both glanced over to the man on the floor. He was practically in a puddle of tears. “If he is willing,” Professor McGonagall agreed. 

“Or!” Hermione didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of this before. “Maybe he could break the bond! Then I wouldn’t have to stay away if I just told Mimsy to stay here at the cottage while I was busy.”

McGonagall nodded slowly. “We will need a few days to make arrangements. Use that time to try this if you think you want to break it and we’ll keep working on the Fidelius. Please don’t do anything rash, child. My heart can’t take much more of this.” With that, the woman stepped back into the floo and was gone.

*********************************

Every dish in the house was broken. There were piles of broken glass throughout the kitchen except for the moments when his magic would lash out and fling bits of it around or hold some in midair before crashing it again. He was considering going after the furniture next, turning it all into kindling. 

Harry hadn’t felt anger like this since just after Sirius died. It made sense, really. Remus had been the last of his father’s friends. He had been more like an uncle than a father, but Harry loved him just the same. There was nothing he could have done, even if he had been at the castle. Harry knew that. But it somehow still felt like he hadn’t done enough. Maybe when he was still there, he could have pushed Ron more to find a way in. 

There was no way into that Manor with everyone on guard. Even if they could get in, getting out with prisoners was so unlikely. Not to mention the state they might be in, Tonks and Charlie and any non-Phoenix prisoners they might find. Neville was still in the hospital wing, and his ordeal had been relatively brief. 

Dean had tried to calm Harry down at first, but gave up when the plate smashing began. He knew the other boy well enough to know that it was going to be a long while before he calmed down enough to talk reasonably.

Theo did  _ not _ know Harry well enough to know that. Harry barely noticed as the tall, lanky boy strode up to him, gently pushing a shoulder against him as he walked past. He had to blink a few times before he could focus on what was happening in that very room. Theo was humming mildly to himself and opening various cabinets. 

“Did you leave any cups, mate? I was going to make some tea,” he said nonchalantly.

Harry stared at him and then blinked around at the kitchen floor. And table. And counters. Every surface was covered in shattered glass. Theo huffed at him dramatically. With a wave of his wand and a few whispered words, he conjured two teacups from the mess. 

“Don’t blame me if you take in a few bits of glass while we’re drinking,” he said as he puttered about making the tea. When it was finished, he suggested, “Perhaps we should take our tea out on the porch.” He led the way and Harry followed in a slightly bewildered state. The whirlwind of dishes swooped up one last time and dropped as he left the room.

Theo was silent once they were sitting. Harry didn’t know what to make of it and was mostly still wrapped in his own thoughts anyway. It was best not to say anything while his thoughts were this chaotic. 

“I’m bored,” Theo said as he finished his tea. “Fancy a duel, Potter?” 

“What?” Harry responded. No one was ever willing to duel him. He wasn’t sure if he was that formidable or if people were just afraid they might hurt him, The Chosen One. Either way, he realized that a duel was exactly what he wanted right now. 

“A duel. No Unforgivables, nothing we can’t heal. Down to the count of 3. Either of us can call it if it’s too much.”

Harry nodded slowly, and then began to smile. He knew it wasn’t his normal smile, but it was confirmed by the quick ripple of fear he saw from Theo before he hid it carefully behind his mask. 

The mansion had a reasonable sized garden, including, thankfully, some open space in the middle. There was a proper courtyard right next to the house, of course, that would have worked, but Theo led the way further out to the opening in the garden. Harry found he was glad. It would be better to damage the garden than the house. He expected damage to go flying. He wasn’t sure how good Theo was, but he knew what to expect from himself. 

They bowed to one another and headed to their respective ends of the garden. As soon as he arrived, Harry spun and shouted, “ _ Expulso _ !” aiming it at the ground in front of Theo. 

The weedy boy dodged to the side, falling from the impact of the ground exploding to his right, but avoiding being blasted backward himself. Coming out of a roll on the ground, he shouted “ _ Mobilicorpus _ ” and Harry was suddenly hanging upside down. 

Harry mumbled the countercurse, dropped and rolled, only to be hit with  _ Impedimenta _ as he tried to get up. His movements slowed and he saw Theo grinning across the field. The other boy said something too quiet for Harry to hear, but he saw the light flying at him. Despite his slow movements, Harry was able to roll enough to avoid it. He had to admit that Theo was good, but he needed to work on not getting too cocky.

Theo looked irritated that he had missed, but turned around with a “ _ Petrificus Totalus _ ” while Harry cast his signature “ _ Expelliarmus _ .” The spells met, colored light splintering in all directions as the two fizzled out. Harry’s surprise was evident enough that Theo took advantage and shouted another “ _ Impedimenta _ ” since the last had worn off. Harry lurched to the left to avoid it but was hit by the second spell he hadn’t even realized Theo sent. A stinging hex made him jump. 

With a look of utmost concentration, Harry fired back, “ _ Expecto Patronum _ .” The silvery light flowed from his wand into a brilliant stag, running straight for Theo. The boy’s eyes were huge as he fell back from the stampeding creature. Just before it reached him, he called out, “I yield!” The stag swung away from him, running back to Harry and nuzzling him on the chin before disappearing.

“What was that thing?” Theo asked as he walked over to Harry. 

“Patronus. Have you never seen one before?” Harry answered with a smile. He was sweaty and tired, but calm, almost happy in a way. He noticed that Theo seemed the same. 

“Maybe once,” the boy replied. “It’s the spell you used on Malfoy and his gang at the Quidditch game third year, isn’t it?”

“Yes!” Harry laughed, “I had nearly forgotten that.” His good mood suddenly fell again. “Remus taught me that spell.” 

“Can you teach it to me?” Theo asked as though he hadn’t noticed Harry’s dark mood swing.

Harry was quiet for a moment. He didn’t want to teach the other boy anything right now. He wanted to wallow in the guilt and the anger he felt at the world. When he thought about Remus, though, he knew  _ he _ would want Harry to teach the other boy. He certainly knew that he could. He had taught so many of the DA to successfully cast one. Curiosity began to take over, wondering what form Theo’s patronus might take. 

“Yeah, I could teach you,” he said. 

“Maybe you should teach Goyle, too,” Dean said as he walked up. “That was a great duel! I think you could both offer some pointers!”

Harry was surprised by his friend’s enthusiasm. Dean wasn’t usually one to get excited easily. “Is this just to keep me from breaking more dishes? Because if that’s…”

He was cut off by Theo’s laughter. “What dishes, mate? You already destroyed them all.”

Harry glared at him. He was about to say something he would probably regret when Dean put a hand on his shoulder.

“Come on, Harry. It’ll be like the DA all over again!” Dean bounced on the balls of his feet with excitement. Goyle looked dubious. Theo tried to seem aloof, but was having trouble not grinning.

“Am I not good enough to join the club?” Theo asked, adding “You know you want me,” with a flutter of his eyelashes.

Harry barked a laugh, rolled his eyes, and said, “Fine. But I’m not going easy on you.”

******************************

“Go again?” Ron asked, trying to fight back the boredom and frustration.

“Do we have to? You know I’m rubbish at wizard’s chess,” Neville complained. The boredom wasn’t as upsetting for him. Ron wanted action and plotting and adventure. Neville was content, especially after everything that had happened, to just be where he was comfortable and only show his Gryffindor nature when it was called to duty. It drove Ron mad.

Honestly, the hospital wing wasn’t even that boring for his fellow patient. Everyone in the castle and some beyond had somehow sent him a plant. Madam Pomfrey didn’t usually allow large gifts cluttering her wing, but she seemed to have a blind eye for the jungle now growing around one bed and the young man quietly tending it. She did  _ not _ have a blind eye for Ron playing exploding snap to entertain himself. Nor did she have a blind eye for him cursing at Kingsley when the git showed up to complain about the way things had gone so poorly. Ron was utterly done with being in the hospital wing, but he knew she wouldn’t let him out until tomorrow morning when his bones had fully regrown and she had observed him resting.

When he saw Kingsley and Professor McGonagall enter the wing, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to groan at what they could possibly want  _ now _ or cheer that their complaints would be a break from the monotony here. He fidgeted as they made their slow way to his bed.

“Mr. Weasley. Mr. Longbottom.” Professor McGonagall greeted each of them as though they were still mere students. It made Ron’s blood boil. He was supposed to be the General, unless they decided that him taking a group of people to try to save one of their most important officers was grounds for dismissal from the position. 

Neville smiled and said, “Hello Professor, Mr. Shacklebolt. What brings you here?”

“We wanted to check on you, of course,” Kingsley said smoothly, his smile showing his perfect white teeth. 

It made Ron want to punch him. “What are you really doing here?” he growled. 

“That’s quite enough of that, Ronald Weasley,” McGonagall scolded. “Shall I bring your mother in for this conversation or can you behave yourself?”

Ron felt his eyes grow wider, then narrowed them. “I’ll behave as long as you’re not yelling at me.”

The Professor pursed her lips at him. Kingsley stepped in, “We have a proposition for you that you will want to hear, Ron.”

This had to be something bad. They wouldn’t be so solemn if it were about anything good. The two older adults looked at one another nervously when he didn’t respond.

“Yes, well,” Kingsley went on, “you know we’ve said before that our primary strategist needs to stay in the castle instead of running out on raids and missions.”

Ron began glaring harder. “I’m not staying behind safe walls while I send our people out into danger!” he yelled passionately.

“That’s quite enough, young man,” Professor McGonagall interrupted him. “Listen.”

He sucked in a breath to keep arguing when Kingsley said something that brought the air out of Ron’s lungs.

“You’re wanting to see Hermione, yes?”

The redhead stopped the tirade he had planned to launch into and nodded reluctantly. “Course I do! She’s…” He wanted to say the love of his life, but he knew the older adults would think he was being overdramatic. “She’s my best friend. I love her and I have to see her.”

“That can be arranged,” Kingsley said. “But we will need assurance from you that you will no longer engage in fighting unless it comes to you.”

Ron was quiet for a moment. “Yes. I’ll do it, of course.”

“We will require a vow.”

“Really?” Ron asked incredulously. “You can’t put your trust in me, your General?”

They both stared at him, McGonagall looking over her glasses at him. Ron flushed red. “Okay, I’ll take the vow.” McGonagall smiled at him and pulled out her wand.

  
  
  
  
  
  



	28. Breaking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm too excited about this chapter to wait a few more hours before posting it. I don't believe there are any major trigger warnings. Fleur's miscarriage and how they are coping is mentioned. 
> 
> My alpha, omnenomnom, and beta, highlyintelligentblonde, are both wonderful.
> 
> JK Rowling owns Harry Potter and the associated world and characters. I just like to play with them.

Tuesday, May 26, 1998; morning

Hermione didn’t understand why Bill fought so hard against trying this. He had warned her it was unlikely to work. Without knowing what kind of bond they were working with, it could be dangerous to break it. However, Hermione was well informed and had made it clear that the risks were worth it for her. 

She couldn’t afford to send her magic to someone she didn’t know, no matter how desperate their need. That’s what she kept telling herself. She didn’t want her heart to ache at that kind of thought, her body to pulse and call out for someone else’s body who she didn’t even know. The entire situation of the bond was upsetting to her; it would be a relief to have it gone. Hermione hadn’t told Bill how tightly bound she felt, so that he wouldn’t use that as an excuse to refuse. 

As he moved a chair directly in front of her and sat down, staring into her eyes with his wand drawn, she felt his apprehension and it amplified her own. 

“Are you sure about this?” he asked her quietly.

“Yes,” she replied. She considered giving him, again, all the reasons she wanted to do this, but he already knew. 

She watched him take a deep breath, bite his lip, and raise his wand. “Are you ready then?” he asked. His voice had hardened somewhat now, resolve steeling his emotions.

Hermione nodded and they stared at each other for a few frozen moments. He took a deep breath in and began to chant, moving his wand in a complicated weaving motion. 

At first, Hermione felt nothing. A slow, peculiar feeling began in her belly, a feeling like her magic curling protectively into herself. She saw the thread next, tightly stretched away into the distance; it looked dull compared to the shimmering sparkle she sometimes felt from it. This was the first time she could say she truly saw the thread instead of just feeling it. 

Again, she found herself wondering who was on the other end, and if they were feeling and seeing this clearly now, too. What if they were in the middle of something? What if they were distracted at a crucial moment? Hermione took a deep breath. This was for Harry, for the Order, for the Wizarding World as it should be. She couldn’t worry about the unknown person at the other end of that thread.

She felt a pull at her heart as the thread began to tug. She could see Bill’s magic surrounding it, pulling gently on it, then a little harder. A web of his magic seemed to sink into the thread. There was the tiniest split as Bill’s magic began cutting at the resistant thread. Her heart convulsed, her body following. Hermione was suddenly on the floor, crying and thrashing in pain. She felt like her heart was ripping out of her body, much like a  _ Crucio _ but focused strictly on her heart. There was a pang in her abdomen as well, but her body curled around itself as though offering protection to that twinge.

Bill was next to her in a flash, his hair whipping wildly in the magic still surging around them. Fleur rushed to their side to help him hold the girl in place so she couldn’t hurt herself. Hermione could vaguely hear them yelling her name and Fleur yelling at her husband.

Hermione’s hands were grasping at her heart. She wasn’t sure if she was trying to protect the thread binding her to a stranger or rip it out. She only knew that it hurt with a pain she had never felt before, like her heart was breaking in half and she wanted more than anything to make it whole again.

******************************

Tuesday, May 26, 1998; At the same time

“You can’t stay in this hellhole. There has to be some way to get you out of here now,” Blaise argued. Draco felt like all he ever heard now was arguing. Their red-headed fugitive was still holding strong against Blaise’s insistence that he must make a full escape. 

“Well what is it then?” Charlie fired back. His voice was confident. He knew there was no way out.

“Draco can get you through the wards,” Blaise said. He had never pointed that out before. Draco felt himself stiffen. That was asking a  _ lot _ to not have discussed it before presenting it as a possibility. 

“Are you trying to get him killed?” Charlie scoffed.

“If you stay, they will find you and kill all three of us,” Blaise argued back.

Even now, Charlie shook his head. “Then I’ll hide somewhere else,” he said with a shrug, heading for the door. Blaise immediately had a hand on the other man’s chest, their eyes locked in a battle Draco didn’t understand and was fairly certain he didn’t  _ want _ to understand. For whatever reason, Blaise desperately wanted Charlie safe. The Gryffindor lion was determined to rescue his old friend before leaving. And somehow Draco felt certain that the man wasn’t going to leave Blaise in danger without a fight either. Merlin knew their entire existence here was danger.

Draco wasn’t sure what to make of it, but he had his own messes to worry about. He felt healed now, physically. It had been slightly less than two weeks. His magical core still wasn’t completely recovered, though it had increased tremendously after his rose garden dream while he was under the Draught. He felt helpless without his magic at full strength. He had never known before how much he relied on his magic being at his call anytime he needed it. 

Merlin, he hated this bond. As it often did, his mind went to the mudblood on the other end of his magic. There was a longing throughout him to have her next to him. It made him feel sick to his stomach, due to his revulsion that it was her or his desperate need to be near her, he couldn’t say.

Though he hated the slow healing and how rough the magical overextension was without her near, he knew he owed Hermione his life multiple times over. He wasn’t sure if he should thank her for it or not, all things considered. Not that it mattered since he was unlikely to live long enough to see her again. Things were good right now, as long as the Dark Lord didn’t figure out that he wasn’t really in a coma. Draco shuddered to think what would happen to him if it  _ was  _ discovered.

Blaise urged him to leave before that could happen. They could all three leave, he had said. All four of them now, Draco amended. Five if you counted Charlie’s friend. Part of Draco wanted to give in and go. His mother wanted nothing to do with him now, but her feelings toward him didn’t change how much danger she was in. If anything, he knew she was in far more danger now than she had ever been with his father alive. He couldn’t believe how stupid he had been in that moment, to think that the Dark Lord would allow them to continue their lives without Lucius around.

His mind skittered away from the thought of Lucius. Draco couldn’t define how he felt about his father’s death. He still remembered how much he had adored and looked up to his father. How could he have ever lifted a hand against that man? Then there was the person who had  _ Crucio _ ed him to toughen him up and threatened his mother when she tried to help him. There was the man who bowed down before that creature and called him Lord. He had bound his family to the Dark Lord and hadn’t cared what might happen to them.  _ That _ man had needed to die so that his family might escape.

Yet, they hadn’t escaped. It had all gotten worse. He needed to get his mother out. If he could get her away from Dolohov, surely she would go now. Even if she hated him, she couldn’t want to stay with the Death Eaters. He didn’t care if she never spoke to him again as long as she was safe. 

Draco was jarred from his dreary thoughts by Blaise jostling him in frustration. “I  _ said _ , back me up here, Drake.”

“With what?” the blond asked. He was sure he could guess the gist of it, but he hadn’t been paying enough attention to know specifics. 

Charlie laughed. Draco could not understand how the bloke managed to be so cheerful while his life was in such danger. Bloody crazy Gryffindors. 

Blaise grumbled, but couldn’t keep his face straight with Charlie laughing. “I was  _ saying _ , Draco, that if he’s going to insist on staying, we need to find a safer place to hide him.”

“Where?” Draco asked. It was his house and he couldn’t really think of anywhere safe. The infirmary was about as good as you could get. “There’s a place he can hide here - that’s better than most.”

“What happens if they come here when he’s not in it?” Blaise thundered, “What if they walked in right now?”

“Keep bellowing like that and someone will,” Charlie commented dryly, but he made no move to hide.

“Did you have somewhere in mind?” Draco queried, deflecting the two of them from the glaring contest they were locked in. 

Blaise looked defeated, “Not really. The attics, maybe. If we had Theo here, we could build wards around a room and just hide him in plain sight where no one could get in.”

“Well, we don’t,” Draco replied gruffly. He didn’t like the reminder that something had happened to Theo. Still, the thought brought an idea to him, “But maybe you’ve got something with hiding him in plain sight. We would need to get him a wand. You’d have to be glamoured constantly.”

“No way,” Blaise said, “One  _ Finite _ and he’d be done.”

“Polyjuice potion, then, though that will make it harder because he would have to take over as someone.”

“Wait - no! You can’t turn him into a Death Eater!” Blaise spluttered, catching on to Draco’s plan. 

“Not an important one,” Draco agreed, “but a guard, someone who doesn’t get any real action.”

Blaise looked incensed. “Absolutely not. He-”

“Can speak for himself, Blaise,” Charlie interrupted. “I can’t get Tonks out while I’m trapped up here hiding. Tell me more about how this could work.”

Draco took a deep breath. It really was a mad idea. He wondered if the bond to Hermione was somehow turning his brain Gryffindor. “For a glamour we would just sneak you in with the new recruits. If we have to use polyjuice, we would need to observe and find a loner, someone nobody else would notice acting differently.”

“What would we do with the person he was polyjuicing into?” Blaise asked.

Draco faltered. He wasn’t sure how they would make that work. They wouldn’t want to just kill them, but how would they keep them? Oh! “Draught of Living Death like you’ve been doing for me and a glamour on him. No one is going to use  _ Finite _ in the infirmary.”

Charlie was nodding. “I think it will work.”

“No!” Blaise argued heatedly. “I’m not letting you kill yourself.”

“With your help, this isn’t a death sentence,” Charlie coaxed. His large, rough hands were gripping Blaise, one at his shoulder, the other on his hip. The effect was intimate even with Draco staring at them. He stood to excuse himself. They didn’t need him here for this part of the ‘discussion.’

He had taken three steps toward the door when he gasped. The thread that connected his magic to Hermione’s was suddenly vivid in his eyes. He could see it stretching thin from deep inside himself out of the room and far beyond. There was no sparkle to it. It looked and felt dull, somehow off from the way it should be. For a split second, he saw a burst of magic shooting along it, then he fell, writhing, to the floor. Draco heard screaming but couldn’t connect it with the instant pain in his own throat. 

He vaguely heard Blaise tell someone to go hide and then felt his friend beside him. He was lifted into the air, cushioned by the wind of the spell as it moved him back to the bed. Even so, he couldn’t stop his limbs from convulsing or his hand from grasping at his chest. He was screaming from the intensity of the pain. 

As suddenly as it had come, the attack stopped. His body still flailed on the bed, Blaise barely able to hold him down. His screams dropped to whimpers and crying. The door to the infirmary burst open and the Lestrange brothers rushed in with three lesser guards behind them. 

“What’s this?” Rodolphus sneered.

“Is the brat finally awake?” Rabastan asked, a menacing grin on his face. 

Draco was still shaking uncontrollably and crying out. His heart felt like someone had tried to rip it literally in half. He couldn’t see through the pain. He heard Blaise speaking in that low, rolling healer voice he had perfected. Draco wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be soothing him or getting his uncles to back off. He felt a potion bottle at his lips and, as he drank, everything went blissfully black.

********************************************

Bill felt terrible as Fleur fussed over the girl. Hermione was another little sister as far as he was concerned; he should never have agreed to break that bond. Try to break it, that is. He could only imagine how much damage it would do to actually break it, if he even could. The tiny split he had made was patching itself before he even pulled away, though he suspected the bond would hurt for some time, especially with the two separated. He wished he knew what  _ kind _ of bonding it had been.

Hermione was on the couch now, looking stunned and in pain. One hand was at her heart, making sense based on the location of the bond, but the other was wrapped protectively around her middle. She had thrown up a few minutes ago and Fleur had been shooting him even angrier looks since then. 

“Beel, go make ze girl some tea. The mint ‘er ‘ouse elf makes,'' his wife commanded. He didn’t even think about arguing. It took only a moment with his wand to have a cup prepared. He wondered where Mimsy was, now that he was thinking about her. It was unlike the bossy little elf to not be in the middle of things. Then he remembered the sly look on Hermione’s face that morning as she suggested Mimsy go shopping for a big meal she simply  _ had _ to have. She had known well enough not to try breaking the bond with the elf around, he suspected. Mimsy still got quite defensive about her former Master, whoever he was.

As he walked back into the room, he saw that his wife was running healing diagnostics over Hermione. Whatever she was finding made her look very worried. Healing wasn’t his specialty, but Bill took a peek up at the runes and numbers floating above the girl. His jaw dropped. Merlin, had he known…

Fleur looked up at him like she might murder him on the spot. He handed her the tea with a shaking hand. Pregnant. Hermione was  _ pregnant _ and he had just tried to break a bond that could have rebound and killed her. At the very least, she now had this pain in her body. What if it compromised the pregnancy? 

Then his thoughts turned darker, to how she had gotten pregnant in the first place. She clearly didn’t know about it yet, though he knew Fleur was moments from breaking the news. She had been on the run with two teenage boys for months, at least one of whom was head over heels in love with her. The baby  _ could _ be Ron or Harry’s. Bill had a feeling, though, that it was nothing as simple as that. Harry was back to dating Ginny, quite enthusiastically. Ron had been pining for Hermione, but in a way that still hovered between the deep love of friendship and a lovesick puppy. Bill didn’t think they were lovers.

He heard the teacup shatter and a desperate, “No!” Looking at the scene, Hermione was sobbing in Fleur’s arms, while Fleur cried with her. His wife still hadn’t recovered from losing their baby. He hadn’t either. And she seemed to think he blamed her for losing it. Nothing he said convinced her otherwise. Seeing another young mother had to be hard for her.

Before he could make a move towards the two women, a pop sounded in the room. Mimsy had returned from her shopping. They were all going to be in trouble now. The little elf had barely entered the cottage before she was rushing into the room, distressed. 

“Mistress Hermione! Whats is wrong!?” Before the girl could answer, Mimsy spun to Bill, pinning Fleur with her eyes as well, “Whats yous do to Mimsy’s Mistress?”

Bill had only seen such a fierce looking house elf during the battle at Hogwarts. This little one looked like she was ready to go to war. 

“Mimsy, don’t. It’s not their fault,” Hermione managed to say between sobs. A wrinkly old hand touched her shoulder. 

“Tell old Mimsy whats wrongs then, Mistress.”

Bill realized he had also never witnessed such gentle tending from a house elf. Mimsy was very dedicated to her family. Her  _ family _ . The elf, and whoever her mysterious Master had been, likely knew about the pregnancy, or at least the possibility of it. He almost gasped aloud with that understanding. 

Hermione sniffled, “I’m pregnant. And I don’t...I have no idea...I’ve never even had sex.” She ended her statement on a wail. 

Bill and Fleur’s eyes met across the room. The poor girl, they were both thinking. It had to have happened between the battle and her escape with Mimsy. Rape, undoubtedly, and just as assuredly by a Death Eater. 

Mimsy patted her hand. “Mistress has many months to get used to the New Master.”

“New Master?” Hermione queried through her tears. Then something in her expression told Bill it had clicked with her, too. She was too smart for her own good sometimes. “You knew,” she whispered. “You’ve known all along I was pregnant. It’s your Master’s isn’t it? Zabini’s? Is that who the father is?”

Mimsy cowered a bit under her Mistress’ anger, “No, its not be Mister Blaise. Hims be a good boy. Master was bad, but hims did not wants to be. Mimsy knows.”

“Well, I  _ don’t  _ know, Mimsy!” Hermione yelled, nearing hysterics. “I don’t know that your Master is a decent person. I don’t know who Master is, but I have a feeling he’s at the other end of this accursed bond and I want him gone.” She turned to Bill with a manic look in her eyes. “Get that thread out of me, Bill. I don’t care how much it hurts me, I want it gone.”

The elf’s eyes were suddenly enormous and her whole demeanour changed. “No, Mistress. Yous be hurting yous self and yous baby. Mimsy nots lets you gets hurt.” Turning to Bill, she said, “Yous stay away from the Mistress. That bond can’ts be undone.”

“You know about the bond.” Hermione spoke in a hushed but angry tone. Bill could see all the conflicting emotions vibrating through her like she might explode at any moment. 

Setting a hand on the girl’s shoulder to steady her, Bill said to the elf, “What can you tell us about the bond?” 

Mimsy shuffled. “I is not being there when it happened. But I getteds Mistress a book from the library abouts them. She has it in hers beaded bag.”

Bill exchanged a look with his wife. He suspected Mimsy knew more about it than she was saying, but Hermione had clearly latched on to the idea of the book and practically forgotten the rest of them existed. 

She commanded Mimsy to bring her the bag. When she had it, she muttered, “ _ Accio _ bond book,” and had it in hand within a moment. She pulled out an ancient looking book. The title was emblazoned on the cover in gold,  _ Marriage Bonding Rituals, Rites, and Wrongs _ . Hermione almost dropped it. She looked up at Mimsy, “A marriage bond?” she whispered. “I’m MARRIED?” Her voice was growing shrill. 

Merlin. He had tried to break a marriage bond strong enough that they could pull magic from each other. If he had succeeded, there was no doubt in Bill’s mind that it would have killed her.

Hermione stood up off the couch. “I won’t have Bill do anything tonight. Nothing until I’ve read this book. But you…” she took a couple of deep breaths to calm herself, “Bill, do you think you could show Mimsy to the Burrow?” She didn’t wait for him to answer before turning back to the elf. “Mimsy, this is a direct order - you will go to a wizarding house called the Burrow. The Mistress there is Molly Weasley, though she may not be home right now. You will treat her as you treat me. You will not talk to Master or any of Master’s friends, you must be loyal only to the Weasley family and myself. And Harry Potter. Tell Molly I have sent you to work for her until I am in need of you.”

The little elf began to cry. “You do needs Mimsy now,” she cried. 

Hermione held fast. “I need help from those who are here for me, not for their old Master or a new Master that we’re waiting on for the next few months. Get out of my sight. I can’t believe I trusted you!”

Bill put his hand on the elf’s arm and popped away with her, his last view Hermione collapsing in a sobbing heap and Fleur pulling her into her arms.

*************************************

Severus smiled as he looked over at Minerva. They had been working on the spell for days, but they had it now. She looked impossibly tired. He  _ felt _ impossibly tired. It would take a couple of days to prepare everything, and they still had to select the Secret Keeper, but soon Hogwarts would be safe again. 

There had been several small skirmishes at the edge of the wards in the last few days. They seemed to be figuring out the weak points. Severus knew they needed to cast the Fidelius as immediately as possible. He only hoped that it would be enough, that it would adequately erase everyone’s memories of where the ancient castle had been.

  
  



	29. Safe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No trigger warnings on this one.
> 
> I don't own Harry Potter.

Hermione was walking through the woods, her mind whirling. She was a strong witch, magically and personally. But how was she supposed to cope with this? How could she be married to someone and not even know who? How could she carry a child without any clue who its father might be? What if they weren’t even the same person - her husband and the father of her child? There was no assurance that they were, not with the Death Eaters. Anything could have happened in the days she didn’t remember.

She missed the soft security of Fleur’s arms around her, the protective big brother feeling of Bill picking her up and tucking her into bed. They couldn’t fix the situation or understand quite how she was feeling, but they offered her comfort she badly needed.

Now she was alone, pushing branches out of her way and trying not to trip on the uneven ground. Hermione wasn’t sure how long she had been walking, letting her thoughts chase around in circles. It felt like moments and days at once. She noticed it was starting to get dark and felt a sudden need to go home. Where was home? 

What was home? Was it Hogwarts? Shell Cottage? How did she get to these woods? Hermione was suddenly struck by an intense feeling of unease. She wasn’t sure where she was or where she was supposed to be or even how she had gotten to this place. In the distance, she heard what sounded like a howl. That was disturbing. The last time she had heard a howl like that, she had been in the Forbidden Forest. Was that where she was?

The howl sounded again, but closer this time. Much closer. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Hermione felt the overwhelming need to run sweep over her. Turning, she began retracing her steps quickly. Wherever she had entered the woods from, she should return. That would be home, wouldn’t it? Shell Cottage, she thought. Her mind was hazy on the subject, too many other things crowding out that information.

There was a sound behind her. Running. And the howl again, nearby. Hermione wanted to scream, but held it in, her feet moving ever faster. The trees and bushes held her back, scratching her and tearing at her clothes as she ran, the sound of the wolf behind her getting steadily closer. 

She was breathing hard. Her legs were on fire, as well as the skin of her cheeks and arms where they had been scratched. She could hear the wolf gaining on her, just behind her. She felt its hot breath on the back of her neck. 

With a scream, she slammed into something hard, sending herself and the solid mass sprawling. When she looked up, they were in a clearing, no sign of the wolf behind her. Across the ground was a sneering, pointed face beneath silver-blond hair. 

“What the fuck did you do?” Malfoy demanded.

“It would be you, wouldn’t it?” she said, half to herself as she shook her head, finally realizing she was back in the dream world again.

“Of course it’s me,” he snarled. “Who else would hate themselves enough to be here with you, Mudblood?”

Hermione closed her eyes, willing herself to wake and be done with this. Her brain’s issues with Malfoy were the last thing she needed to be dealing with tonight. “As if I would believe that the great Draco Malfoy hates himself,” she huffed.

“I’ve done unspeakable things. You don’t know the half of it.” 

"I'm sure I don't," Hermione grumbled to herself and wondered if there was a spell that would at least let her control her dreams. She hardly needed a guilt trip right now. 

“But even I don’t deserve this.”

“And I do?” she demanded. 

"Merlin Granger. You’re so annoying!"

"Yeah well I'm pretty sure I'm having a nightmare since you're here, Malfoy." 

Why, out of all the Death Eaters, did he have to be the stand-in for her bondmate? Sure, she didn't  _ know _ many Death Eaters so otherwise it would be… Goyle, Crabbe, or his father. She scowled. Maybe Malfoy was the better option. At least he wasn't half bad to look at.

"Well?" Malfoy snapped.

“Well what?” Hermione couldn’t understand what he was trying to demand from her. Why should she answer to him anyway? “I don’t want the fucking bond. I don’t want to be married. I’m too young for all of this!” she screamed at him. Of course  _ Malfoy _ wasn’t at fault for the things happening to her, but why not yell at him anyway? He was here and she was angry. So incredibly angry. 

“Of course you are. We’re all just fucking children, but here we are,” Malfoy spat out. His face twisted as though he were in pain. 

Her breath caught on a sob. “Don’t talk to me about children. It’s not  _ fair _ ,” she whimpered, dissolving into tears. She would never bother to say it in the real world, but she could wallow in her grief here. 

They were both silent for long moments as she sobbed. Malfoy moved toward her a couple of times, but then pulled himself back. “Why is it you?” she finally managed. “I guess… I don’t remember well enough…” Truly, she could barely envision Blaise, much less any of the other Slytherin boys like Nott or Flint. She supposed she was glad it was Draco’s face her subconscious had given to the nameless Death Eater. At least he was familiar, and less awful than his father. What a pathetically low bar to be grateful for.

“Thank Merlin you don’t have to remember,” Malfoy said quietly. “So… are you not going to tell me what you did?”

“What I did about what? I don’t bloody know what I did. I can’t remember.”

He rolled his eyes. “What did you do to the bond, you daft bint?”

Hermione bit her lip. So this was what she was worrying over. Of all the things for her mind to focus on right now. “I need to get rid of it.”

“And you actually tried?” Malfoy stared at her incredulously.

“Don't you lecture me! I had no way of knowing and I can’t be throwing my magic to some Death Eater when I need it myself. I have to help Harry and the Order,” she defended.

“So you’re trying to kill yourself instead of be bonded to me? You think you’ll be more useful to them dead?” His voice was rising as he went. “You didn’t think you might hurt me?”

“You aren't my responsibility! You're just some Death Eater who… who… married me for some awful reason!” she cried. “I don’t even know who  _ you _ really are!”

“Well it’s not like we were ever given the chance to chat over tea and scones, were we?” For a brief moment, a trace of sadness crossed Malfoy’s face before the anger and frustration twisted it again. “But it doesn’t matter whether you really know me or not. I didn’t think you would be so callous with anyone’s life.”

“I can’t… I just can’t… Don’t you think I have enough to take care of?”

"You're the bloody bleeding heart of Gryffindor. You care about everything! Why  _ not _ me!?!" he roared.

“I will care about the ones who deserve my love and protection. I’m done with you, Malfoy - whoever you really are. You’re not welcome to come back here.” She waved her hand and he melted away, leaving her alone in the clearing. 

  
  
  


She woke to Fleur shaking her. “”Ave some water. You were screaming and then talking een your sleep. We couldn’t wake you.”

Hermione gratefully drank. “I’m sorry I woke you. Or kept you up.”

“Eet eez okay, ‘Ermione. You ‘ave ‘ad a big shock.” Fleur looked behind her to Bill. He had his hands on her shoulders and was nodding along with her statement.

“I wish we could make this easier,” he said, sighing. “You’ve been through too much already.” Hermione could tell he was genuine in that feeling. 

“I just wish I knew who it is… on the other end of the bond. And if that person is my… my baby’s father. I… Fleur, are you sure that no one who was with you remembers anything?” She asked the question quietly. She knew she really shouldn’t. Fleur had a very hard time with anything related to her time as a prisoner.

Bill shot her an angry look, the first he had ever given her. Before he could say anything, however, Fleur cleared her throat. “I do not theenk you will ‘ave any luck, but you could ask them when you are at ‘Ogwarts. We were all obliviated like you.”

“But maybe someone overheard something, or they missed some memories,” Hermione said, desperately hoping it might be true. Fleur nodded and pet her hair. “Maybe it will just be a few more days until they figure out the Fidelius,” Hermione mumbled, yawning.

Bill looked down at her, his eyes softer again now. “I’m sure it will be done soon. Try to sleep, Hermione. We’ll be near if you need us, but you need to rest.”

  
  


****************************

  
  


Leaning against a stone wall was not conducive to sleep, especially when he had gotten used to a fluffy bed. Charlie would rather be here trying to sleep standing up than in that bed, but it still made things difficult compared to his dragon keeping days. It hadn’t really been that long, but it felt like a lifetime ago that he last saw the open sky of the Reserve and his beloved dragons. He wasn’t sure he would ever make his way back to that life, so aside from hiding, perhaps he wouldn’t need the skill of sleeping literally anywhere. 

Then again, it might be a very necessary thing to re-learn if he was going to be a soldier of evil. Charlie chuckled darkly to himself. He had a variety of reasons to follow Draco’s plan. He needed to be out of here and  _ doing _ something, first and foremost. He also needed a way to break Tonks free and no matter where his guard persona was stationed, he would have better chances than hiding would ever give him. He had one more thing he needed to do, though he wouldn’t admit it to the others. He was going to make sure Bellatrix would never be able to hurt another soul, even if it meant staying past getting Tonks out.

“Charlie…” he heard a low whisper, Blaise obviously trying to get his attention, but without waking him if he had managed to fall asleep. 

He grunted in reply and began shifting the cabinet with his magic. Blaise had come through for him - again - and provided a wand. It wasn’t a great match, but it grudgingly worked for him. The man waited patiently for Charlie to get out in the open. 

“Have you been able to sleep?” the Healer asked, worry obvious in his tone.

“No,” Charlie admitted, “but I’ll be fine.”

Blaise pursed his lips and Charlie couldn’t help but think they looked kissable that way. “You’re going to make yourself sick if you don’t get some sleep.”

“What do you suggest, good Healer?” Charlie asked with a false smile. He couldn’t imagine any solution beyond his exhaustion finally taking over.

“You’re going to sleep in my bed for a while. I’ll stay out in the infirmary on guard. Draco should be waking up again sometime soon anyway and I’ll need to check over him.”

It all sounded very logical. They were both worried about Draco and Blaise had only been able to give him a Dreamless Sleep in front of his Uncles rather than the Draught of Living Death. He had told Rabastan and Rodolphus that Draco woke that way sometimes, but would only scream and convulse until given a potion to go back down. It was unlikely to be a sign that the coma was over yet. After some grumbling, they told Blaise that next time they wanted to watch him flop around until he hurt himself for a while, but otherwise they seemed satisfied with the story. 

“Blaise… I can’t ask you to give up your bed and your own sleep for me,” Charlie said. His hand reached out automatically to run down Blaise’s arm as he stared into the deep brown eyes of the other man. Fuck. He hadn’t meant to do that. And there was the final reason he needed to get out of hiding.

He kept manipulating Blaise. It was like breathing now - using his body to get what he wanted, needed. It was wrong, so wrong, especially when it was so easy with him. Charlie knew how attracted the young Healer was to him. Blaise had admitted as much the day he apologized for what Bellatrix had made him do. He had taken all the responsibility for what happened, even though it had been forced on both of them. How much either of them were attracted really hadn’t mattered. 

But now it did. The tension between them was unbearable sometimes, and his own behavior wasn’t helping. Charlie just couldn’t seem to make himself stop.

After a small back and forth, he allowed Blaise to win and headed for the bedroom, collapsing gratefully into the soft bed. He inhaled and nearly choked on his own rising desire. Fuck. Charlie wasn’t sure he could sleep with the other man’s scent all around him. 

The memories seared through his brain, replaying for the thousandth time - the feel of Blaise’s lips on his cock, his tongue flicking around it, slim hands touching his hips and chest. The deep connection he felt every time their eyes met, the electric pull between them. And then the kiss. Oh Merlin he wanted to kiss him again. 

He screwed his eyes shut and fought the wave of panic that followed his desire. Yes, he wanted Blaise, but the thought of sex, of even being touched, also terrified Charlie. Maybe someday… but how could it be with him when they had met the way they had? There was something very fucking wrong with him that he still felt that connection, still wanted Blaise the way he did.

It didn’t help any that the younger man was so fucking noble. For all that Blaise sometimes looked at him with longing, he never laid a finger on him unless he was checking the mostly healed wound on his neck. But it was more than that. He also knew from Draco about all the people Blaise was tending when he wasn’t supposed to be. Of course he had known from his own experience that the Healer tended to do more than was approved, but knowing the extent he went to for some of them, and the danger he was in if he was caught… Charlie was impressed, and far more emotionally moved than he wanted to be.

He tried to relax and think about literally anything else. Sleep was precious and there wasn’t much time before he would have to give up the bed. But his mind wouldn’t stop focusing on Blaise, and his body was demanding release. With a groan he gave in, moving his hand down into his pants and letting the memories and his own dark fantasies wash over him as he pleasured himself. 

It took almost no time - his body was ready so fast now, and so desperate to get off before anyone could make him stop. He grabbed his wand and cleaned up, trying to fight down the wave of shame and self-hatred. Still, with his body sated, Charlie wrapped himself in the blankets that smelled like Blaise and imagined it was the man himself holding him safe as he fell into an exhausted slumber.

  
  


********************************

  
  


They had made scones this time. They weren’t strictly necessary, but Ginny had felt they would need an influx of energy and something to help their magic stabilize when the spell was complete, so she had gone to him for help.

“We could just use Pepper Up,” he drawled with a raised eyebrow.

Ginny rolled her eyes at him. “Scones taste better.”

He didn’t argue with her and instead gathered a few ingredients from his cabinets before following her to the kitchens. Salamander Blood to get the blood stirring. Fire seeds to bring back the spark of energy. Mandrake Root for fluidity. Powdered bicorn horn to appeal to the duality of forces. Dragon scale flecks for balance. 6 dandelion heads for grounding. A tabletop mushroom, sliced, for stability.

Ginny had added blueberries and cranberries for everyone’s enjoyment. And love. She added love to everything.

They were both pleased with how they turned out, though Snape would never admit it. He stood next to her with his arms crossed, watching as the various casters took their places. Ginny could tell he was irritated that he couldn’t be among them, but no one trusted him that much. 

Only enough to help create the spell himself. Internally, she shook her head at the thought. As far as she was concerned, he had proved himself multiple times over.

Headmistress McGonagall would be the focal point of the spell, but there was someone casting as well from each direction - Professor Sprout to the North, the auror Dawlish to the East, Kingsley to the South, and Andromeda Tonks to the West. Somewhere in the watching crowd, the Secret Keeper was present. Part of the reason a crowd was even allowed was to cover up who it might be. 

Ginny wasn’t exactly sure how that worked, but Snape was adamant that it was the only way to ensure secrecy with this many people in the castle. There had been a small ritual earlier to prepare the Secret Keeper as a receptacle so that only they would receive the magic. 

The people inside the castle would not be able to find it again if they stepped outside of the grounds. Yes, a great many of them would learn the secret so that they could go out on raids and other missions, but Snape assured her that the Keeper would be kept very safe inside the castle. 

Ginny watched in awe as McGonagall finished her chanting and the witches and wizards at the cardinal points each chanted back to her. As they pointed their wands up and toward the center, magic crackled through the air above them all until a giant dome encased the entirety of their little world here. 

“It’s putting Hogwarts in a bubble,” she said without meaning to. 

Snape nodded, his own eyes wide with the wonder of such a large spell. “10 points to Gryffindor,” he said absentmindedly. “It extends just like this under the ground as well, so that we are protected even if they tried to tunnel in or find the pipes in the Great Lake.”

Ginny let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She had been to the Chamber. She knew how deep down Hogwarts went and it could have been a vulnerability. Of course Snape and McGonagall were too smart to leave it unprotected. 

For the first time since the Battle itself, she felt like they were truly safe. It would be even better when the walls were rebuilt and properly warded, but now they had the time and security to figure it out. And with Hermione back, she was confident it was only a matter of time. 

  
  
  
  



End file.
